Love With No Place To Go
by MioneDarcy
Summary: Twice, Elizabeth Bennet found the love of her life. And Mr Darcy was not the first. When she fell in love with a man born to a peer of the realm but practically penniless, she was happier than she could ever have imagined. But life can deliver harsh blows, and Elizabeth's life is torn apart by grief and tragedy - by the time she meets Mr Darcy, everything has changed. E/D HEA
1. Chapter 1

"Grief, I've learned, is really love. It's all the love you want to give but cannot give. The more you loved someone, the more you grieve. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes and in that part of your chest that gets empty and hollow feeling. The happiness of love turns to sadness when unspent. **Grief is just love with no place to go**." – Jamie Anderson

This is just the first chapter, for now. I am going to try not to write any more until Close Enough is almost finished (it is only halfway done) but this idea has been going round and round in my head for a while, driving me absolutely insane because it would not let me get back to CE until this chapter was written down.

Love With No Place To Go is the story of Elizabeth Bennet's two great loves. It is E&D HEA, but she meets and marries another man before him. It is set, rather than in the Regency period, in the 1790s, which John Breihan and Clive Caplan's article 'Jane Austen and the Militia' convincingly argues P&P was set. [1] I anticipate this being quite a long story, but as yet I cannot estimate how long it will be. I will include footnotes, but these will mostly be about the military situation during the story and historical notes, so don't read if you are not interested.

Hope you enjoy – let me know what you think x

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 12** **th** **November 1792**

It was a blustery November in London, and Miss Elizabeth's hair was facing the consequences. Her thick, dark curls had escaped from the confines of her bonnet and blew wildly across her face. As she tried valiantly to tuck them back in place, her attention was not on the path in front of her, so, as will come as no surprise to anyone, she did not know there was someone walking towards her until she bumped into him.

The man in question had not seen her either, too absorbed as he was in the letter he held in his hand. Their collision was accompanied by an "Umph!" by the gentleman, and a quiet squeak from the young lady. Elizabeth lost her balance and would have fallen to the floor, if the gentleman had not caught her about the shoulders and steadied her. As she regained her balance and took a step backwards, she had a moment to look at the man in front of her. He was not handsome – his hair was a dull sort of mousy brown and his face was uncomfortably arranged, as though his features had been taken apart, then put back together by someone who had not seen the original. He was not exceptionally tall, nor was he exceptionally short, so was not memorable for either.

Nevertheless, his clothes were finely made and flattering to his figure and complexion; his cravat was tied with skill but not with enough flamboyance for Elizabeth to suspect him a dandy or a fop. His countenance was youthful and his eyes were kind, though at present his brows were furrowed and his mouth was twisted worriedly.

"Do not fear, sir, for I am quite alright," Lizzie told him.

"Hmm, what?" the gentleman startled, "Oh, yes, are you quite sure, miss. It would surely be remiss of me not to escort you further, having given you such a dreadful fright." Lizzie laughed at him brightly.

"Have no fear, my kind sir, I am a stout country miss, it takes more than a collision with a preoccupied gentleman to distress me." The gentleman was not satisfied with this answer.

"Let me at least accompany you to the end of the street. In which direction are you heading?"

"Why, in the same direction I was going before I was stopped," she smiled disarmingly. "My Aunt is in a shop just a street over, and I could not help but explore a little. I am quite new to London, you see." The gentleman frowned.

"I can tell, if you wondered away, at least without at least a footman. While not an unsafe area, it would not do for a young lady such as yourself to be unaccompanied on these streets."

"You do bring such gloomy tidings, sir. No wonder you look so miserable, if this is the direction in which your thoughts take you."

"Indeed I am not miserable, merely contemplative."

"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed, "you dropped your letter." She hastily bent to retrieve it from where it had been dropped, and as she rose, she read aloud, "Col. R. Fitwilliam?"

"That is I. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam at your service." He bowed quite elegantly, and his mouth had curled up at the corner.

"There you are, so you can smile," Elizabeth observed. The couple had begun to walk in the direction that Elizabeth had been travelling and the Colonel had just come from.

"In fact, I smile quite frequently, miss," he informed her, "I just received news of some significance which required deep thought."

"Oh, I do hope nothing is wrong," she cried sympathetically.

"Not wrong, quite the opposite – I have been given the orders for an important… errand… I must undertake on the continent."

"France?" The Colonel nodded slowly. "I suspect the declaration of the First Republic has made the lives of military men such as yourself quite… interesting." The gentleman's eyes had flown dramatically up his forehead, and his mouth hung slightly agape. [2]

"You are, that is to say, your suspicions are not wrong." After he did not speak again for several moments, Elizabeth asked,

"Will it be a mission of diplomacy, or perhaps something a little more… covert? Excuse me, I am sure you are not allowed to divulge such details?" Elizabeth was embarrassed that she had let her curiosity push her into the bound of impropriety. "My mama always tells me I should not speak of such things." The Colonel, far from looking disgusted as she had expected, looked intrigued.

"You follow the details of the situation on the Continent? I have not met a lady, let alone one as young as you are, who is able to talk with any knowledge of the circumstances."

"I will excuse you this time, sir, but I am not so young – why, I am closer to eighteen than I am to sixteen." This drew a laugh from the mousy-haired man.

"That is quite young enough, for I was that age a decade ago!"

"That does not make me young, sir, that make you old!" Together they laughed as they continued to the end of the road, and Elizabeth reassured him that she was in sight of the shop her Aunt was patronising, and she was sure he must be on his way. Before he left, however, she boldly placed a hand on his arm.

"Please, sir, as you pointed out, I have some knowledge of the goings-on on the Continent. Keep yourself safe, for I would not like to read your name in the paper as one sacrificed for our country, however noble the cause may be. God's speed." With this, she left him, and did not turn to look behind her as she made her way to her destination. But standing where she had left him, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was frozen in his surprise – the young lady he had run into quite by accident had been captivating, and unlike any other woman he had ever met, and that was only in the short ten minutes of their acquaintance. As he turned to continue on his way, he realised he had never learned her name, but it was too late, for she had already disappeared.

oOoOoOo

When Elizabeth returned to her Aunt Gardiner's haberdasher, she found that she had been missed. [3]

"You should not go off by yourself like that Elizabeth," her aunt scolded, "especially not without telling me that you are leaving. You are lucky I was not beside myself when I realised you were gone." Elizabeth was sorry to have worried her aunt, but reassured her that she was perfectly fine.

"I bumped into a very courteous gentleman who was kind enough to escort me back." Mrs Gardiner frowned at her niece.

"You have not been long in London so I may assume that you were not acquainted with him? It is not done, to introduce yourself to men you do not know, on the streets."

"But I knew that, Aunt, which was why I did not introduce myself, and he did not introduce himself either – although I did learn his name – so really, no strict bounds of propriety were breached." Mrs Gardiner gave Elizabeth a stern look, but shook her head and dismissed the matter.

Around the dinner table later that evening, Mr Gardiner and his wife conversed fondly, which Elizabeth mostly ignored in favour of appreciating the delicious food, but her attention was caught when she heard mention of a military hospital which was being built just outside the trading district.

"Their announcement said the hospital was to provide basic healthcare to soldiers quartered in and about London – so apothecaries and physicians do not have to be called out at the officers' expense, no doubt – but I do not see the politicians emptying their pockets for such a thing. No, they are anticipating trouble, to be sure. One has to but listen to the chatter about France to know that they situation on the Continent will soon escalate."

"But who will be caring for the soldiers?" Elizabeth enquired.

"I imagine they will have local ladies in to nurse the men, and I suppose the military will use their own surgeons. I do not really know, Elizabeth." The conversation moved on to other topics, but Elizabeth was left pondering the need for a military hospital – she was worried that the gentleman she met that morning, Col. Fitzwilliam would be in harm's way.

As the month when on and the Christmas season began, Elizabeth forgot all about the hospital, submerged as she was in the festive celebrations. January continued in a similar vein – Mrs Gardiner was determined to introduce her niece to every single one of her acquaintances, it seemed. Nonetheless she continued to read the newspaper after her uncle was finished, to keep herself apprised of the events pertaining the Continent, and was struck by the announcement on the first of February that France had declared war on Great Britain. [4]

This was of significance to her uncle because the majority of his trading was done with Continental Europe, so for several days he was sequestered away in the offices at his warehouses formulating a plan to keep his business going. Mrs Gardiner continued as usual, resolved not to let the news affect her daily life until necessary – for the most part, society was unmoved by the news. The war was seen to be far away, across the channel, and the few ladies who knew any details of the matter – many had no knowledge of current affairs – had little interest in discussing it.

Elizabeth was not so unmoved. Though there were few British troops on the Continent and there had been no news of any casualties, Elizabeth knew that this would soon change. She applied to her Aunt to be allowed to visit the women who were involved in the hospital, to volunteer her help. At first, Mrs Gardiner refused outright.

"That sort of environment is not place for a young maiden, Elizabeth, and your Uncle and I would be remiss in our duty as your guardians during your visit here if we let you do such a thing."

"But had nursed the tenants at Longbourn when they are sick, and I once had to help the apothecary set our groom's dislocated shoulder," Elizabeth argued.

"That is not the same as tending wounded soldiers. The sort of language and environment it would expose you to is not acceptable and I cannot let you do it. On this I am firm."

Despite Mrs Gardiner's firm stance, Elizabeth continued to badger and wheedle her, presenting rational arguments that the men who are willing to sacrifice themselves of the country must have women to care for them when they are hurt, until the elder lady eventually capitulated out of sheer frustration.

"At least it will keep you occupied for the rest of your stay, I suppose. But you must take care not to expose yourself to sights which may take your innocence. Your reputation is the most precious thing you have, Elizabeth, be sure to keep it pristine."

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 4** **th** **March 1793**

The hospital was a large stone building. It had once been something else, but Elizabeth was not sure what. The windows were tall and square; the walls were sturdy and whitewashed. Each room had several low beds with metal frames. There was a table between every two beds, which was piled with sheets and blankets.

"This is a voluntary hospital, so most of the things have been donated," one of the nurses told her. "We will give an apron, but I would advise you not to wear your finest clothes, Miss Bennet. There can sometimes be a bit of a mess."

Elizabeth found out that as the English had only recently come to be at war with France, they had not received many injured men from the continent, but they had been treating some of the men who were quartered near London. Elizabeth's first patient was a young man of eighteen or nineteen who had had his foot shot in a training accident, which was not a bad wound, but the foot had become infected and he was moved to the hospital to have it amputated from below the knee.

"The surgery was successful," the sister told her, "and he has been recuperating for the last week, but it will be your job to tend to him, and to see if you can get him moving a little."

Elizabeth has thrown herself into the task with the zeal of a country gentlewoman and all the delicacy of a farmer's daughter. She quickly won over her patients with her shocking wit – she was not afraid to use language too coarse for her station in an attempt to make a connection with the injured young man. She was sorry to disobey her Aunt in such a manner, but when the soldier consented to being moved to a wheeled chair for the first time since his operation, Elizabeth could not mind her loss of delicacy.

Though she continued to behave with the epitome of propriety around the other nurses, she found that by developing a sense of camaraderie with the soldiers, she was able to encourage them to get out of the sick bed and start preparing themselves to get back to their lives. During her second week volunteering, she brought in a board she had made for bubble-the-justice, which the three men in the room she oversaw were delighted with. [5] They spend a jolly afternoon playing, with Elizabeth having bought a bag of boiled sweets to give to the winner, and everyone felt much better for having had an enjoyable time.

Within weeks of her volunteering at the hospital, Elizabeth was a firm favourite with the men – she was certainly not the most skilled or knowledgeable of the volunteer nurses, but she was one of the most well liked. Her talent for cheering up even the interminably unhappy reached the more senior sisters of the convent, so when a miserable soldier was brought in from France, having been triaged and treated on the Continent and on the ship, Elizabeth was assigned to his care. When she entered the room in which he had been placed, she recognised him immediately.

"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam!"

oOoOoOo

[1] Have a search online for 'Jane Austen and the Milita' - it is the essay on the Jane Austen Society for North America's website (I tried to put a link but it didn't work).

[2] The First Republic, which was officially called the French Republic (République Française) was founded 21st September 1792, during the French revolution. It lasted until 1804, when the First Empire, under Napoleon, was declared – although the form of the government changed several times during this period.

[3] In Britain, a haberdasher is a shop that sell little things for sewing like buttons, needles, ribbons etc. not a men's outfitter, as it is in America.

[4] In 1791/2 the monarchies of Europe watched with outrage as a revolution began in France, which threatened to change the way the world worked. To being with, the Allied forces which formed to combat the French was mostly Prussian and Austrian, then in January 1793 Portugal and Spain joined the anti-French coalition. Britain began military preparations in late 1792, and they declared that war was inevitable unless France gave up the land it had conquered through skirmishes on the Germanic and Sardinian fronts. Britain expelled the French ambassador following the execution of Louis XVI, and on 1st February France responded by declaring war on Great Britain (as well as the Dutch Republic).

[5] Bubble the justice was an 18th century version of a much earlier game called 'nine holes' in which players would take turns bowling a metal ball along a wooden board with nine numbered holes or 'pockets' drilled into it. The aim was either to land your ball in each hole in numerical order, or to simply to score as many points as possible. It was renamed bubble the justice as this was one of only a few games not outlawed in a clampdown on games in London taverns in the late 1700s.


	2. Chapter 2

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 27** **th** **March 1793**

" _Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam!"_

The gentleman's head shot up as she called his name. She was certain he would not know who she was, as the extent of their acquaintance was a ten-minute conversation months ago, and yet the moment their eyes met, she saw recognition. Col. Fitzwilliam did not look as well as he had when they met – he had lost weight, and his face was slightly gaunt, the hollows under his cheekbones only emphasising the interesting arrangement of his features. A large yellow-green shadow was spread across his temple, and he had an angry purple bruise on the side of his jaw. She quickly drew her eyes over his body, and noted the bandaging around his right calf.

"I would exclaim similarly, miss, but you never bestowed me the honour of knowing your name," Col. Fitzwilliam said. There was a tiny twinkle in his eyes as he said this that indicated he might be amused, but the set of his mouth was hard, as though it did not know how to smile – she only knew differently because of their previous meeting.

"Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, sir, though presently I reside here in London."

"You are a gentlewoman?" Elizabeth attempted to remain unoffended by his tone of surprise. In response, she raised a sardonic eyebrow. The Colonel had the grace to look sheepish.

"I suspected as much, from your outfit, but I have been introduced to most of the eligible young ladies in London, and I had not met you. I meant nothing by my comment."

"Ah, so the matchmaking mamas had already paraded their stock past you by the time we met," she laughed, "now I understand." Col. Fitzwilliam's twinkle had returned, slightly brighter than before, but a smile was still elusive.

"Come now, my good Colonel, let me take a look at you." Elizabeth made her way to the bed with all the forceful efficiency she had developed since she started volunteering at the hospital. "You must let me know if I am hurting you." She gently moved his leg so it was closer to her and began unwinding the bandage. "Tch, tch, this is far too loose," she tutted at him, "who on earth wrapped this?" The Colonel seem to understand the question was rhetorical, preoccupied as he was with wincing. "The edges are inflamed… you have been bled, I assume?"

"When I got in to Southampton."

"You may need it again, I will keep an eye on it – or rather, I will ask the other nurses to. You see, I am dreadfully inexperienced, and the ladies who have been doing this longer do not like it if I make decisions by myself."

"You appear to me to be quite the adequate nurse," Col. Fitzwilliam observed.

"I am a country miss at heart you see – I know how to treat a scraped knee or a broken bone, so I think of these injuries as just a little more serious."

"You have broken a bone?"

"Of course. One does not spend their nursery years climbing trees not to fall out at least once. This particular fall was spectacular indeed – there is a grand, tall oak at the top of a hill called Oakham Mount, on the edge of Longbourn's park. I reached right to the top, but unfortunately I disturbed a bird's nest just as I stood on a thin branch, so the birds flew up at me, and I lost my balance. I fell straight out of the oak and promptly went careening down the hill. At some point along the way, I broke my forearm, but luckily it was a clean break and was easily set. It was fortunate I did not roll any further, because the bottom of the Mount is a water meadow which was flooded at the time. [1] There we go." The gentleman had been listening so intently to her story that he had not noticed her clean and rewrap his wounded leg.

"I will leave you to rest now, I cannot imagine the journey form the port was comfortable for you."

"No, indeed it was not," he grimaced in remembrance. Elizabeth tidied up around the room, which was set up for one occupant only – she assumed it was because of Fitzwilliam's rank, or perhaps he had important relatives – and lay an extra blanket at the end of the bed.

"The nights are quite cold at the moment," Elizabeth explained as she emptied the dirty water from the cloth bowl out of the window, and placed it back in its position by the jug. She picked up the used cloths to take with her, and nodded her goodbye to her patient.

"Miss Bennet," he said solemnly, "thank you."

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 28** **th** **March 1793**

"Good morning Colonel," Elizabeth exclaimed cheerfully as she breezed into his private room.

"I would not call it _that_ ," he grumbled from where he was buried under several layers of blankets. "I could barely sleep all night, and these blasted sheets were pressing on my leg, but that officious nurse who came in after you would not let me take them off." Elizabeth would have been inclined to laugh at the childish pout on his lips if she were not so sympathetic of his discomfort.

"Let me tend to you first, and then we can see about making you more comfortable." Elizabeth unwrapped the wound and gently cleaned it with a cloth and a bowl of water, which she poured from the jug on the wooden stand. As she was a maiden, and a gentlewoman, Elizabeth never bathed the soldiers in their beds, or helped them to dress, but she saw more of the men than most women of her station saw. The first time she dressed a wounded leg she was both terrified and intrigued – she had not seen a male leg since the neighbouring boys she played as a child graduated from shorts to breeches.

The Colonel did not take his eyes from her as she dressed his leg, and tidied away after herself. His gaze was intense, but not hard, so Elizabeth took no notice of it. "Your leg is quite swollen today, sir, did you do something to aggravate it?"

"No Miss Bennet, I have done nothing at all, which is half the problem." Colonel Fitzwilliam's pout had returned.

"You cannot be up and about when your leg looks quite so terrible as it does," she replied firmly, "until somebody much more knowledgeable than either of us tells us you can begin walking again, you stay right there in that bed."

"Goodness, you sound almost as bad as the woman from last night, Nurse Mitchell."

"But I am not, which is why we are going to put our heads together and find a solution for your blanket problem," she informed him pertly. The Colonel had several suggestions which Elizabeth summarily discarded as useless, saying,

"You may be an accomplished military strategist or an educated scholar, I do not know, but you left all of your intelligence outside of this room, I believe."

In the end, she tightly rolled two blankets, which she draped over his leg either side of his injury. When she drew his covers over it, the rolled blankets took the weight and no pressure was placed on his wound.

"You are a Goddess among men, Miss Bennet," her patient declared.

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 29** **th** **March 1793**

Elizabeth entered the Colonel's room carrying something which was hidden by the sheet draped over it. It was vaguely rounded in shape and approximately a foot in height and width.

"Today, sir, I come baring gifts," she announced.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet."

"That is an improvement to be sure – yesterday you were truly miserable. Did you sleep better?"

"Indeed I did, thanks to your ingenuity, Miss Bennet. My leg bothered me no more than it does during the day." Elizabeth placed the mysterious object in the corner and moved his blankets aside so she could check his leg. When she saw that it was much the same as the day before, she turned to face his and grinned a disarming smile.

"Would you like to see your presents?"

"I could think of nothing that would please me more, Miss Bennet." The corner of his mouth flicked up slightly in a ghost of a smile, though nothing truly emerged. Elizabeth reached under the sheet, withdrawing a book.

"I am quite sure that half the reason you are so melancholy is that you are stuck alone in this room, without any company or entertainment. To rectify this situation, I have brought you _Songs of Innocence_. It is one of only a few copies; it is written by a clever fellow, William Blake. It should keep you occupied for a little while at least, I think." The Colonel took it from her outstretched hand, and ran his hand lightly over the cover.

"Your other gift is a little more practical – I spent yesterday evening fashioning it." She removed the sheet, and revealed a wicker construction, a flat rectangle that had been bent into a U shape, and secured by several ribbons which ran from one short end of the rectangle to the other. The result was a woven arch of sorts.

"It is for your leg, to stop the blankets causing you discomfort," Elizabeth explained as she carried it toward the bed. "I slip the ribbons under your leg like so, and it goes just over your injury, so the blankets do not hurt you." [2] She settled the contraption above his right calf and pulled the blankets over it. "It should be close enough to keep you warm while taking all of the weight of your covers." The Colonel stared at the supported sheets for several long seconds, then caught Elizabeth's eye. For the first time since she met him in November, she saw a gentle smile settle on his lips. It was a small smile, a soft smile, but for Elizabeth, it was enough.

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 1** **nd** **April 1793**

When Elizabeth entered Col. Fitzwilliam's room the next Monday, he was looking sullen.

"You did not come yesterday, Miss Bennet. You were not here this morning either."

"Yesterday was Sunday, Colonel, I had myself, and my eternal soul to tend to – I was not able to tend to soldiers as well."

"I was expecting you… I was waiting for you." The Colonel's words were quiet, and spoken in the direction of the window, past her shoulder, rather than directly to her.

"Perhaps, sir, I can write down the times I come here, so you a never left disappointed," she offered, wishing to dispel his melancholy. "Here, I shall write them down on this paper: I volunteer on Monday afternoon, and Wednesday, Friday and Saturday morning. On Tuesday, I wait with my Aunt for callers, but if we do not have calls to return on Thursday, I come in the morning." She wrote all this neatly on a blank piece of paper she found in the pile of the Colonel's notes, where the physician wrote his instructions. He thanked her, and placed the paper next to his bed within easy reach.

"Are the other ladies not looking after you adequately? It seems you were waiting for me especially."

"They are competent nurses, I am sure. But none of them… they are not you, Miss Bennet." Touched by his praise, she squeezed his arm in gratitude, then proceeded to tend to his leg. When it was redressed and covered, she turned her attention back to him. All the while she was caring for him, his eyes gaze had remained on her face.

"Your bruises are healing better, I think, Colonel." The shadows on his temple had almost faded, although his jaw still looked painful. She reached out a tentative hand and lay her palm against the side of his face. Col. Fitzwilliam's eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds, and when they opened he fixed his attention entirely on her.

"It does not hurt you, does it?" she asked.

"Less and less – it barely bothers me now," he replied. She withdrew her hand, but he caught it in his, and held it on the bed.

"Can I ask, that is to say, are you allowed to tell me…" she began tentatively.

"How I was injured? I should not really, but since we are truly at war now, I suppose it does not matter anymore. I was sent to perform a covert mission, the details of which I cannot disclose. We had officially been at war for over a month by the time I was injured, but I had cultivated some useful informants in the months prior, so I was told to remain as long as possible. Sufficed to say, I was found in a place not safe for an Englishman to be, by some very suspicious men. Luckily my batman made it out without being discovered, and I heard that he is back in the country. I was held in unsavoury conditions – the like of which I will not repeat to a lady – for several days, and when I attempted to escape, I was caught. I was stabbed by a pigsticker in the confrontation, injuring my leg. [3] I was rescued the next day, by a group of our soldiers doing reconnaissance, but there was a skirmish, and we all came out a little bruised." Elizabeth had remained quiet as he spoke, much to her credit, but tears had gathered in the corners of her eyes, and her grip on his hand strengthened.

"Thank you, Colonel," she cried earnestly.

"Why are you thanking me?" he asked, baffled.

"You, and your fellow soldiers, are prepared to put yourselves in such awful situations, for _us._ " He squeezed her hand one final time before he let it go.

"Coming home makes it all worth it."

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 3** **th** **April 1793**

When Elizabeth visited Colonel Fitzwilliam next, she brought along a selection of sweet things.

"I was not sure what you would like, so I brought lemon drops," she checked each of the paper bags and handed the over as she named them, "some barley sugar drops, pistachio prawlongs, and Cook's home-baked Seville orange jumbles." [4] The Colonel thanked her, and for the first time since his arrival, a true smile formed on his lips. It was not wide, nor particularly cheerful, but it was sincere and heartfelt. He proceeded to sample all the sweets, several times.

"No, sir! You cannot eat them all at once!"

"Indeed I can, Miss Bennet. I have an interminable appetite for everything that is sweet, and you have seen fit to indulge it."

Elizabeth carried out her usual actions in a contented silence, but once she was done, the Colonel interrupted to quiet.

"My cousin came to visit me yesterday. Its seems it has taken this long for my family to notify him that I was back, and where I was. I haven't been much up to writing, you see."

"Are you and your cousin close?"

"As close as any cousin can be. While we did not grow up together, we were much in each other's company when our families were in town, and his estate is only one county over from my families, so was an easy distance to travel for short visits."

"A county over is an easy distance? Unless each estate was very close to the border, I wonder at your reasoning."

"With a well-sprung carriage, Miss Bennet, anything is possible," he retorted with a small grin. "My family are at the estate in Yorkshire – my brother's wife is in her confinement, my mother wished to stay with her and my father remains by her side whenever possible – but they have recently had very heavy snow and could not travel down, my cousin Darcy told me. He was already in town for the Season – he finished University last year, so is facing his first outing as an _eligible_ bachelor. I wish I could be there to watch it," he sighed with fraternal delight. "He is very awkward, and gets himself into the funniest scrapes because of it. It is lucky he has a such a large estate," the Colonel laughed to himself, "I am certain the society matrons would not be quite so forgiving otherwise."

"I am glad your cousin visited, sir, for it seems to have cheered you greatly."

"Seeing Darcy buoyed my spirits, but have no doubt, Miss Bennet, he is not the one responsible for my improved mood. That accomplishment lies entirely at your door." His tone was direct, and his intense gaze left Elizabeth with no hesitation as to his meaning. She blushed becoming and turned her eyes to the floor.

"Tch, tch, none of that now," he told her, "I shall not have you pretending to be shy, not now, after everything."

"I am not shy," she defended firmly, even as she blushed deeper. The Colonel just chuckled, a deep satisfied chuckle, and they continued on as they had before.

oOoOoOo

[1] A water-meadow is an area of grassland, which is subject to a type of controlled irrigation. On the flat, a water-meadow had to be carefully constructed, but on a sloping field the water was fed to the top, and gentle sloping terraces were formed along which the water could trickle in a zig-zag fashion down the field. The water could be used again for fields lower down the slope. Working water meadows largely disappeared from Europe in the 20th Century.

The suffix ham could be derived from two words – the Saxon words ham (meaning settlement) or hamm (meaning water meadow). Oak-hamm, Oakham… see what I did there?

[2] Elizabeth has designed a precursor to the blanket lift. I tried to find if something like this existed in the eighteenth century, but I could not find record of anything predating the Crimean war.

[3] Pigsticker was the informal name for a spike bayonet. This was the early form of musket bayonet – the knife and sword style bayonet did not appear until the early nineteenth century.

[4] Prawlongs were pieces of fruit or nuts dipped in hard caramel.


	3. Chapter 3

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 15** **th** **April 1793**

Colonel Fitzwilliam was looking much better than when he arrived. The bruises on his face had faded entirely, and his leg wound itself was staying closed, the red inflammation having died down at the end of the previous week. When Elizabeth arrived in the afternoon, she was given the joyous job of relaying a message.

"The physician has said that is you can stand on it today, and walk around a little, you can go home as soon as you can arrange to." The relief in the air was palpable, though Elizabeth was sure that the Colonel felt the same crushing disappointment that she did – disappointment that they would likely never see each other again.

With Elizabeth's steadying hand to encourage him and a footman waiting to catch him if he fell, Col. Fitzwilliam placed one foot, then the other on the floor. As he slowly stood, he grimaced sharply, but managed to draw himself up to full height. The few steps he took were tentative and obviously painful, but they were enough to convince the other nurses that he was ready to go home.

Colonel Fitzwilliam informed her that he would be going to stay at his family's town house in Mayfair. His parents and brother were still in Yorkshire, and it appeared they would be remaining there for some time, but the Mayfair townhouse had a full staff, and the sheets could be removed from the furniture in no time at all. It was concluded that a Fitzwilliam carriage would pick him up the following morning to take him home, where he would be met by his batman, who would help him make the transition.

"Jonesy is going to have a hell of a time – the place I had in London before the assignment is not nearly as opulent as my parent's house. I am certain he has never seen anything so grand in his life," Fitzwilliam laughed. He was very glad to finally be leaving his small, basic room in the hospital, but underneath, he knew he would greatly miss Miss Bennet's company and care.

Elizabeth's goodbye would be tearful but happy. It was a sense of accomplishment she had never felt in her leisurely days as a country gentlewoman – seeing a patient she had tenderly cared for finally be well enough to leave. Having done so much meaningful work in her time volunteering at the hospital, she was not sure what she would do when her stay with the Gardiners' was over.

She made it to the hospital the next morning early enough to catch Colonel Fitzwilliam before he left. She found him alone in his room, sitting in a wheeled chair, all of his belongings having already been packed into a trunk and waiting for the carriage at the front door. His eyes lit up as she entered the room, and he stood, despite the pain that it caused him.

"Miss Bennet," he began earnestly, "I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me these last weeks."

"I am sure it is no more than anything the other nurses have done," she demurred. Fitzwilliam took a painful step forward and reached for her hand.

"You, more than anyone in this hospital, worked miracles on me. Thank you, Miss Bennet," he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss to her knuckles, "from the bottom of my heart, thank you."

At that moment, a footman entered the room for the purpose of wheeling Colonel Fitzwilliam down to his carriage, which had arrived. He kissed her hand once more, before releasing it, telling her,

"Goodbye, Miss Bennet. God bless."

oOoOoOo

 **Saturday 20** **th** **April 1793**

After Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had been discharged from the hospital Elizabeth continued to volunteer there, although it was no longer quite as personal as it had been when she was caring for the Colonel. She took great pleasure in the rehabilitation of the soldiers, who were more and more coming injured from the Continent. Nevertheless, her stamina was waning slightly, so after a conversation with her Aunt, she cut down from four or five days a week to three.

At seventeen years of age, Elizabeth enjoyed the dinner parties and the dances she attended – she also enjoyed the attention she got from the men at these events. Her figure was that of a woman already, and her lean waist and rounded shoulders were accentuated by the fashions of the day. Her dark hair fell in waves and curls that bounced about her when she laughed – which was often. Her eyes were framed by long, fine lashed and her nose, while not entirely symmetrical, crinkled sweetly when she smiled.

She was presently engaged in conversation with a Mr James Anthony, a well-educated and loquacious tradesman, and a friend of her Uncle Gardiner. She had accompanied her relatives to a card party at the house of one of Mrs Gardiner's acquaintances, where the guests vastly outnumbered the seats at the games tables, but Elizabeth was content to watch others play and amuse herself with talking.

Mr Anthony was telling Elizabeth of a friend's hunting lodge, where he had stayed the previous autumn.

"I am particularly partial to pheasant, so unfortunately for the birds, they bear the brunt of my attention. There was one day, a successful day it was, when I shot twenty three of them in the space of an afternoon. I had an excellent gundog working for me that day, and just as well, for a lesser dog could not have kept up. My friend's house keeper and cook were quite overwrought when we brought back the birds, for they were certain they could not cook them all before the birds began to turn, so we threw a dinner for the neighbours, and had a pheasant feast. It was a jolly good time had by all."

James Anthony was an attractive young man, around twenty five or twenty six, with wide blue eyes and prominent cheekbones. His Father had died several years previously, and as the only child, he had inherited responsibility for a successful shipping and trading company. According to her uncle, Mr Anthony had even more business acumen than his father, and the company wold soon be worth a small fortune. He was a delightful conversationalist, a gifted story teller – his voice brought his recollections alive with emotion and clarity – and an excellent dinner companion. He was paying particular attention to Elizabeth, by which she was flattered, but she found that she did not at all reciprocate his interest.

She could not account for it. Mr Anthony a good looking fellow and an excellent candidate for a suitor, but while she enjoyed his conversation, she felt she had little in common with him. This would not have been true the previous year, or at the beginning of the season. Before, she would have been charmed by his attention – she might have fancied herself in love with him, or at least hope his addresses would continue. Now, she knew more of the world, had spoken at length with men who had made great sacrifices for King and Country, and she could no longer be interested in men whose idle time was spent just that, idly. When she observed Mr Anthony's attractive features, could not help but wish they were less symmetrically arranged; when he spoke, he was eloquent but his words were not refined – he did not roll his letters with his tongue.

In the carriage on the way home, Mr Gardiner had smiled at Elizabeth and asked,

"What did you think of young Anthony then? He asked me if he may call next week."

"He was all that is charming, I am sure."

"But would you like him to call?" Mrs Gardiner asked.

"I would not wish to put him out of the house if he did, but I would certainly not be waiting for him anxiously." Mr Gardiner looked a little disappointed.

"I thought he would be just the chap." Mrs Gardiner patted his knee sympathetically.

"Elizabeth may grow fond of him upon further acquaintance, mightn't you, Lizzie?"

"Mmm," she hummed noncommittedly. "Perhaps."

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 23** **th** **April 1793**

It was a Tuesday morning, the day Mrs Gardiner took calls, so Elizabeth was sat in the parlour with some sewing. Her Uncle had had a shipment of fine fabrics from the United Provinces, and he had allowed Elizabeth to take samples of all her favourite fabrics. [1] She was presently trimming her bonnet with a bright red fabric which her Aunt Gardiner assured her would go excellently with her dark complexion. It was a similar colour to the uniforms of the men she looked after at the hospital.

Mr James Anthony had called earlier, and had made pleasant conversation with Elizabeth and her Aunt for a quarter of an hour. The young lady was polite and courteous, but she was sure not to show any particular regard for him, because she did not want to encourage his attentions. His company was pleasing during the time he was there, but Elizabeth soon forgot him after he left.

The footman appeared at the door, and announced,

"A Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam to see you, madam." Mrs Gardiner was confused, as she did not recognise the name, and did not often get visitors she was not already acquainted with, but Elizabeth had thrown her sewing aside and stood in obvious surprise.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam!" she cried as he entered the room, his weight very heavily leant on his walking stick.

"Miss Bennet," he said as he bowed quite properly – although not as elegantly as he used to – and smiled as Elizabeth rushed over to him.

"You must sit down, for I can see how much your leg pains you," she scolded as she helped him to a chair, and quickly assumed her nursing demeanour. "Have you been taking care of it properly? I know you have your man Jones to assist you but I am sure he cannot take care of you as a woman can." She picked a blanket out of a blanket in the corner and set it over his legs, explaining, "I know the cold causes you much discomfort, and it is a chilly day outside – I am sure it is much exacerbated as you have travelled across Town." All this while the Colonel had been watching Elizabeth with a fond smile, but when her fussing finally ceased he gestured to her Aunt, who was quite shocked at her niece's behaviour, and asked,

"Would you kindly introduce us, Miss Bennet?"

"Of course, I am sorry. Aunt, this is Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Colonel, my aunt Mrs Edward Gardiner."

Mrs Gardiner greeting him politely and set about making tea. When she asked,

"How do you take it, Colonel?" Elizabeth did not give him a moment to reply before she took the cup out of her Aunt's hands, added a slice of lemon and two sugars, and handed the cup to their guest. Fitzwilliam just laughed softly and took a sip of his tea – made just the way he liked it.

"How is it you know Miss Elizabeth then, Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"I was recently a patient of hers, Mrs Gardiner, at the military hospital. She was quite my favourite nurse." Elizabeth barked a sudden laugh, and when he turned towards her with a raised eyebrow, she giggled,

"I was so sure Nurse Mitchell was your favourite – I am certain it was she you spoke about the most." Fitzwilliam scowled, but with good humour, and retorted,

"That harridan was no favourite of mine to be sure, but I shall have to say the same of you for suggesting such a thing."

Mrs Gardiner was amazed at her niece's interactions with the soldier. Elizabeth had always been a lively young woman, but she had never seen her interact with a man with such camaraderie, especially not during the season she had been in London. She had certainly never reacted with such delight when any other young man came to call.

"Well, it would not be true to say we met at the hospital, would it?" Elizabeth countered. "I would say we first me when you walked into me."

"To be sure, it was _you_ who walked into _me_. And I would not say that was when we met, for I did not know your name."

"But you knew my face, for your recognised me at the hospital, so I would say you had met me quite adequately."

Mrs Gardiner was looking even more baffled at their bantering back and forth. "You walked into one another?" This led to the Colonel and Elizabeth explained the events of the day they first met in November, in the light-hearted to-and-fro which had characterised the conversation. It left Mrs Gardiner with a greater understanding of their acquaintance, and a greater suspicion that the Colonel felt some regard for her niece – and that Elizabeth might feel similarly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stayed beyond the customary length of time, but neither Elizabeth nor her aunt noticed. Elizabeth was too absorbed in the conversation, and too captivated by the smile which had been so elusive during the previous weeks; Mrs Gardiner was enjoying watching the young lady, who had lit up when their guest had arrived and had been glowing ever since. When he finally left, Elizabeth insisted that she see him to his carriage, after he had stood up too quickly – having forgotten his pain in the good company – and almost fallen over. She issued him with several instructions, primarily to go straight home and rest his leg; Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed precariously and kissed her hand, acknowledging that he was thankful for her care.

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 26** **th** **April 1793**

Colonel Fitzwilliam had called the day after his first visit, then again on the Friday. Both visits were chaperoned by Mrs Gardiner, although she allowed them more leeway than she otherwise might have, given the nature of their acquaintance until then. Anticipating the Colonel's visit, Mrs Gardiner had requested Cook bake some sweet treats which were usually reserved for Sunday tea. As he tucked into the fare appreciatively, Mrs Gardiner winked at her niece, who returned with a thankful smile. Elizabeth had informed her Aunt of Colonel Fitzwilliam's particular fondness for anything sweet just the day before.

"The trick to this cake," Elizabeth informed her visitor, watching with an enormous smile as her visitor devoured the treats in front of him, "is the sugar. It is stored in jars with vanilla pods, which infuse the sugar itself with the essence, which then gives the cake its wonderfully aromatic flavour."

"Genius!" the soldier exclaimed, "Brilliant!" He helped himself to a third slice of cake.

"It was a technique my Uncle heard of from a trader in Amsterdam, who learned of it through his work with the Dutch East India Company. [2] My Aunt and Uncle have used it ever since."

"Thank goodness for the trader in Amsterdam!" He took his fourth biscuit.

OOoOoOo

[1] The United Provinces was one name for the Dutch Republic, also known as the Republic of the Seven United Netherlands, which existed from 1581 until 1795. During its Golden Age in the late 16th and 17th centuries, the Dutch Republic dominated world trade. It had a vast colonial empire and had the largest merchant fleet in the world. The County of Holland was the wealthiest and most urbanized region in Europe, having a reputation for being a multicultural hotspot due to the trade links all across the world, and between 1590 and 1712 the Dutch also possessed one of the strongest and fastest navies in the world.

[2] The Dutch East India Company was how the British referred to the United East India Company (Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie). It is considered the first truly transnational corporation, and until the late eighteenth century eclipsed the British East India Company in profits, ships and man power, with its monopoly on the spice trade. As well as spices, they traded silk, porcelain, metals, livestock, tea, grains such as rice and soybeans, and sugarcane. They were also prolific ship builders. It was nationalised in 1800, after the French invasion of the Netherlands.

I have no idea where the idea of flavouring sugar with vanilla pods came from nor when it reached the UK, but I decided something like this could be a reasonable hypothesis.


	4. Chapter 4

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 2** **st** **May**

When Colonel Fitzwilliam the next week, he found that Elizabeth already had company. A young attractive man, far more handsome than himself, was seated next to Elizabeth, which he knew would force him into the seat opposite, next to Mrs Gardiner. The present company rose as he was announced, and Mrs Gardiner led the introductions.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, my I present Mr James Anthony. Mr Antony, this is Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam."

The men both bowed sharply. The Colonel turned to Elizabeth and acknowledged her bowed shoulders with a nod. "Miss Bennet."

Everybody seated themselves, and civil conversation commenced. It appeared that Mr Anthony had not been there long, so the usual topics had not yet been exhausted. The Colonel was himself a loquacious man, but the young tradesman was able to out-talk him in that category. After recent experiences, Fitzwilliam found he had much less tolerance for the inanity of polite society – Miss Bennet's ability to embody all that was elegant and lady-like while discussing the most outrageous of topics was one of the things which brought him back to Gracechurch street time and time again. When the weather was being discussed, and stories of acquaintances he knew nothing about were the topics of conversation, he was content to sit quietly and watch Elizabeth talk.

She was animated when she spoke, almost unfashionably so, and her hair bounced with the movement of her head. Her curls were flatteringly arranged, but around her face, short, wispy strands escaped any pins and floated rather aimlessly about. Fitzwilliam thought the effect was quite charming.

Mr Anthony left shortly after, and Fitzwilliam was pleased that Elizabeth's mood did not seem affected by his exit. Elizabeth turned her attention to her remaining visitor.

"How is your leg today, Colonel?"

"I should like to tell you it is all better, but it still pains me, and walking is proving somewhat difficult."

"The muscle was damaged?"

"So the physician told me when I called a few days ago."

"I saw the depth of the wound in the beginning, and suspected you may have some trouble, but the doctor at the hospital informed me my female weakness did not allow me to correctly gage a prognosis." Fitzwilliam scoffed, making Elizabeth smile.

"I should rather take your word than any Army surgeon – they are a rough bunch, and unappreciative of subtleties."

"If you should wish to hear my opinion…"

"I should always like to hear your opinion on anything, Miss Bennet."

"From my limited experience with these things, your injury will heal completely, but it takes time. What you suffered was not a mere wound of the skin – you must give yourself time to heal deeply."

"Until then, I suppose I must be content with using this blasted cane."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, given time, you will be able to return to full strength, but if you push yourself too early, you shall never return to active duty. Could you imagine?" From the horrified look on the gentleman's face, he could.

"You are correct, as usual, Miss Bennet – a few more weeks with a stick are entirely preferable to finding another career now that my habits are established. Or worse," his eyes widened with dismay, "a military career at a desk in some other officer's study."

Elizabeth just laughed at him, and passed him another biscuit. "Come now, sir, eat up. You will want to regain your strength as quickly as possible."

oOoOoOo

 **Saturday 18** **th** **May**

The highlight of Elizabeth's week was quickly becoming Colonel Fitzwilliam's visits. Each time he would call, they would spend the half an hour in interesting conversation. She delighted in the fact that nothing shocked him, because this allowed her to converse with him as she did with her father. Rather than feeling emasculated as she noticed many men became, Fitzwilliam found her intelligent discourse to be amusing and stimulating.

It was usual for the topics discussed over tea to range from the weather to horseflesh, from the latest society event to political current affairs. It therefore did not shock the gentleman when she observed,

"I suppose since the victory at Raismes, we are quite hopeful about the direction of the war. With Dampierre dead, French morale shall suffer – that will surely be to our advantage. [1] Of course," Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, "Our casualties were not few."

Fitzwilliam winced slightly. "It is not yet public knowledge, Miss Bennet, so I hope you will not repeat this but we lost several hundred men, as did our allies. While the French undeniably lost, there is some friction between our senior men. The Duke of York is being careful not to direct any blame, but it is quite clear he believes Lieutenant-Colonel Pennington to be culpable. [2] The man is a hot head – I know, I have served with him – so it would not surprise me if he made some rash decisions." Elizabeth pondered this for a moment, before replying,

"While any loss of like is tragic, our loss of a few hundred compared to their loss of a few thousand, as well as our gain of Valenciennes, means that on balance, the battle was a success."

"Yes, of course, but any…"

"Infighting between the command and officers gives the men a reason to doubt their superiors, which could…"

"End extraordinarily badly for everyone."

"Exactly."

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 22** **rd** **May**

The next week, Elizabeth's time at the hospital was a difficult one. A man had come in recently with a wounded arm. He was a lovely young man, the fifth son of a gentleman from the West Country, and his prognosis had been good – until infection set in. Elizabeth spent the morning by his while the physician bled him, but she recognised the yellow-orange marks spreading up his arms from previous patients, almost all of whom had died.

When she returned to Gracechurch Street, she was in need of a hot cup of tea and a good book, so when Mrs Gardiner rushed into the private sitting room, interrupting her time for emotional recovery, she was somewhat irritated.

"Please, Aunt, I will surely help you with whatever you need, but I find myself unable to help at present until I have had a rest." Mrs Gardiner was sympathetic to her exhaustion, but was not there to seek Elizabeth's assistance.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is here."

"Oh Goodness." Elizabeth looked down at her outfit – an old dress she had changed into after coming home from the hospital. It was threadbare in places, with a stain on the hem, and she had not worn it in public for many months, primarily because it had been purchased when she was fifteen, before her figure had filled out. While the fit about her chest was not uncomfortable, she was not insensible to the indecency of wearing it outside the private rooms. Aware of the direction of her niece's thoughts, Mrs Gardiner, tugged her to stand by her elbow and assured her,

"He will not notice it is an old thing, Lizzie." She paused, and a playfully wicked smile crossed her face, "but if he does, I am sure he will not mind in the least."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped open and she laughed incredulously. "Aunt! I am sure I have never heard such a thing from your mouth. You sound like Mama!" Mrs Gardiner just chuckled.

"All of us who care about young ladies wish to see them happily married, some of us are just more circumspect than others – that does not mean we do not see when a gentleman blatantly admires you."

"It is not like that, Aunt, not at all. I believe I provided some reprieve when he was injured, I expect he just became accustomed to my company." Both ladies knew that Elizabeth was lying.

"We shall see," the older lady hummed to herself, "we shall see."

The Colonel had been waiting in a stuffed chair, but stood when the ladies entered the room. He bowed, his balance improved, even from the day before, as the ladies curtsied. If he noticed the state of her outfit – or her figure – he was too well mannered to make it obvious.

"It is good to see you, Miss Bennet. Are you well?" The usual pleasantries were observed, before Fitzwilliam turned to Elizabeth, and asked, "I had wondered if you would accompany me on a walk about the neighbourhood? If that is allowed by your Aunt, of course." Elizabeth looked askance at her Aunt, who nodded her approval, so Elizabeth agreed enthusiastically. Mrs Gardiner rang for a footman to accompany them, and Colonel Fitzwilliam helped Elizabeth into her pelisse.

They made slow progress along the pavement, as the Colonel was still somewhat reliant on his cane for balance, though he insisted he could support Elizabeth's weight on his arm.

"There is a charming little park just a few minutes from here," Elizabeth suggested, "and there are several well-kept benched with a pleasant view." Fitzwilliam just laughed.

"I will concede, I may need the momentary rest, but you are not nearly as subtle as you think you are." Elizabeth blushed, and withdrew her arms slightly. "No, no, do not misunderstand me Miss Bennet, I greatly appreciate your forthrightness. It is rare to encounter a gentlewoman with your openness in Town." They continued in companionable silence until the end of the road, until Fitzwilliam began to speak.

"There were several things I wished to speak to you about, and questions I would like the answer to, and I did not wish you to answer them in a parlour or drawing, where one may face the pressure of present or eavesdropping relatives." Elizabeth opened her mouth to defend the Gardiners, but Fitzwilliam continued before she could speak. "Having a good idea of your character, I cannot imagine your Aunt and Uncle are anything but the best people, but I refuse to take any risks with your happiness." With this speech, Elizabeth had some idea of the topics of the conversation to come, and yet she had no desire to stop him. In fact, she was breathlessly waiting for him to continue.

"First, before I can learn more about you, I wish you to know more of me. I come from a very wealthy family, an influential family, but I have no wealth of my own. It has always been expected of me that I find my wealth through a wife – and this would be necessary to continue into my infirmity enjoying the comfort in which I grew up. Until recently, I have had no desire to marry, so I have not been seeking an heiress, but I have nonetheless been in society enough to realise that the high-born gentlewomen of the Ton would not be well suited to me, not I to them.

"I began to wonder if I did not need an heiress with no less than fifty thousand, as I had always been told. I wondered if, as long as my wife could be satisfied with our situation, I could marry a lady with a much smaller dowry, but with much more character – my salary will feed, clothe and house a family quite adequately as long as my wife did not desire expensive Court dresses and the finest French cooks and a voucher for Almacks. If she could be content with a house in a good area in Town, rather than a house in the most fashionable as well as an estate in the country and a hunting lodge in the North Country.

"My first question for you, Miss Bennet, is this – as a gentlewoman from the country, do you wish to stay close to your roots, or would you be content to live in the city, at least until your husband earnt his fortune and could purchase a small estate?"

Elizabeth did not answer immediately, as she attempted to quell her rising nerves, though the fluttering in her chest was not uncomfortable, merely distracting. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, yet firm.

"If I loved my husband, and as long as together we had enough to live comfortably, I would not need extravagance - although he would have to make enough to buy me books," she laughed, "I should not care _where_ we lived. If we resided in Town, I am sure I would miss the countryside for it is all that I have really known, but there are plenty of ways to take exercise in the city – which would ease my restlessness – and if I could have but a few houseplants, or a small garden, my love of nature would be satisfied." Fitzwilliam looked quite pleased with this answer, so he continued.

"As I came to this realisation about my prospects, I came to another – if I followed my gut, and married for love and companionship rather than wealth, there is a reasonable chance that my family will shun me for this decision, that they will refuse contact with me, that they may even show their disapproval to society, and my wife may face the consequences of this. She may not have the large circle of friends she is used to. This is my next question – if your new relatives did not like nor approve of you, could you stand it? And if, as a consequence of their disapproval, you could not enjoy the social life you have previously had available to you, would you resent it?" Elizabeth pondered this for a few moments, wishing to be sure of her answer before she replied.

"If _my husband_ loved me, I do not know why I would need the love of his family. I would, I think, be sorry for my husband that he had lost contact with his family, for I know that while relatives can be infuriating at times, they are also the most wonderful support one can have. But as long as he did not mind the loss, and as long as he knew that he had _me,"_ Elizabeth made deliberate eye contact with Fitzwilliam, "I do not think that the loss of his family would affect my decision.

"As for society, well, the society I am accustomed to is not varied – the town I come from only has four and twenty families in my circle of acquaintance. I have enjoyed meeting people in Town, but they are not my _friends_ , so I would not miss them. Anyway, I am certain that the circle I have moved in with the Gardiners would not be the same as that of the man I marry… if he comes from a family with _wealth and influence_. With my husband's company, and the company of the people who do accept us, I should not concern myself with those who do not. That I do not care for societal norms should be evident – I am presently volunteering at a military hospital, something which many would say has entirely rid me of my innocence and respectability. But in helping the soldiers, I have followed my heart, which I trust to guide me. I will certainly follow my heart in the future."

The couple had finally reached the little park. It was small and rectangular, set between two sets of parallel streets. The trees were tall, though not as sturdy as the ones Elizabeth used to climb in Hertfordshire, and they cast a charming dappled shade over the courtyard-like arrangement of benches and low walls around a fountain which lay at the centre. Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam took a seat on one of the more secluded benches, although they remained in full sight of their accompanying footman, who stood rather conspicuously by the fountain. This caught the attention of Fitzwilliam, who observed,

"He does not conduct himself as other servants do – I have never seen a footman behave as though he wants to be noticed." Elizabeth sighed fondly.

"Ahh, Jimmy. I would perhaps suggest that he remains so visible at the urging of my Aunt – to remind us to comport ourselves appropriately – and yet while this may be so, poor Jimmy lacks the ability to remain unseen even if he wanted to. He had a growth spurt, you see, a couple of years ago, and he never adjusted to his new size. He trips over his own feet and knocks his head on doorframes and manages to make an enormous amount of noise doing tasks everyone can accomplish silently. My Uncle hopes he will improve, he does not want to have to move him to another position, for although he is not inconspicuous, he is otherwise an excellent footman." They sat quietly for a while, side by side, enjoying the tranquillity together; the sound of horses, people and carriages on the surrounding roads was absorbed by the shrubbery. A flock of sparrows descended and began playing about on the grass, their excited chatter filling the air.

"Miss Bennet, are you only willing the marry for love?"

"Yes, sir."

"Miss Bennet, do you love me?" Elizabeth smiled at him and laughingly chided,

"Is not the established mode of address to flatter the lady with the depth of one's feeling before you expect her to answer that question?" Colonel Fitzwilliam returned her smile with one of his own, and took her hand, raising it to his lips.

"Miss Bennet, Elizabeth, I am madly, deeply in love with you. I could shower you with flowery words about my admiration of your eyes and my love of the freckles on your nose, but I fear this would overshadow my true esteem for you – for your determination and resilience, for your kindness and your generous heart, for your gentle and loving nature. How was that?"

This time, Elizabeth giggled out loud. It almost hid the shape intake of breath, prompted by the intensity in his eyes. "The words were very impressive sir, but it would have been a little more convincing if you had not asked me to evaluate your effort."

"I merely wished to ascertain if I have expressed my heart adequately enough for me to learn yours."

"I believe it was quite sufficient, Colonel."

"And do you love me, Miss Bennet?"

"Indeed, sir, I do." The joyous smile which spread across his face was heart-warming, and Elizabeth was delighted to see the light reach his eyes, the melancholy that had lingered in the shadows there finally eclipsed.

"I have just one final question for you, Miss Bennet. Would you like me to ask it?" Elizabeth squeezed his and replied earnestly,

"I do, sir, I would like nothing more than for you to ask me."

"And I would like nothing more than to hear your answer. Miss Bennet, darling Elizabeth, will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

oOoOoOo

[1] The Battle of Raismes took place on 8 May 1793 between the French Republican army of the Marquis de Dampierre and the Allied Coalition army of the Prince of Saxe-Coburg, and resulted in an Allied victory. Auguste Marie Henri Picot de Dampierre, styled the Marquis de Dampierre and usually known as Dampierre, was a French general. He was hit in thigh by a cannonball towards the end of the battle, and died from his wounds the next day. His name is carved into the Arc du Triomphe.

[2] For much of the battle, it looked like the French would win, however by 5pm, the Prussians were overcoming the French, and British forces had arrived to assist. Lieutenant-Colonel Lowther Pennington, who was commanding the Guards, ordered his men into the woods and expelled the French back to their entrenchments. Aware that they were not supported by the Prussians, Pennington pressed on with his men beyond the trees, but they ran into a fierce crossfire of musketry and artillery from the trenches, eventually having to fall back. Over seventy men in the Coldstream Guards alone were killed or injured, and the Allied forces lost hundreds. In his report after the battle, the Duke of York did not specifically blame anyone, though it is clear that he felt Pennington was responsible – the officer was later described by York as 'perfectly mad' for his conduct during the battle.


	5. Chapter 5

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 22** **rd** **May 1793**

They walked back to Gracechurch Street with their arms entwined. Colonel Fitzwilliam was leaning more heavily on his cane, but his spirit was too buoyed to notice. Elizabeth had a spring in her step. Here she was, at seventeen, engaged to an honourable man that she loved, who loved her in return.

"I will have to speak to your Uncle, as he is your guardian here in Town, then I will have to travel on to Hertfordshire to speak to your father," Fitzwilliam had told her.

"The house is close enough to his warehouses that Uncle Gardiner comes home for tea, you can speak to him then." It was agreed that the Colonel would walk Elizabeth home and wait for her Uncle; Elizabeth was just pleased to spend more time with her new fiancé.

"I have been wondering something all week, and wish to ask you," Elizabeth began.

"It is my greatest desire for you to be able to ask me anything you want to," Fitzwilliam cried earnestly.

"How is it that you found me? I am sure I did not mention my address, or even the street on which I am staying – how did you locate it?"

"The credit here must go entirely to my batman, Jonesy. I cannot say what methods he deployed in his investigation, but I recall he spent a lot of time _out_ , and somehow he came back to me with your address written on a piece of paper."

"I shall have to thank him them, when I meet him, for without his hard work, we would not be in the position we are now."

"I had not thought of that, Miss Bennet. You are indeed correct – I think I shall give him double his wage when he is next payed, though no price could ever match the jewel I have won." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back, then turned it over and reverently kissed the inside of her wrist, just beneath her glove.

"You are _quite_ the charmer, sir," the young lady laughed. "It is a wonder you have not found a wife before."

"I knew my heart was waiting for one person, one lady, and I could not marry until I met her – the one who would make my blood sing in my veins and my heart burst from inside my chest!"

Elizabeth giggled and batted at him playfully. "Oh, you do talk so!"

When they arrived at Gracechurch Street, Mr Gardiner had returned from his warehouses, and Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately requested an audience with him. While the men removed to Mr Gardiner's study, the ladies retreated to the parlour to wait for them. Mrs Gardiner sat herself next to her niece, and grasped her hand emphatically.

"I take it you have good news for me, Lizzie?"

"Oh, Aunt! I am to be married!" Elizabeth could barely contain her joy, and her hands flapped about her as though they could tame the warmth which felt like it was bursting out of her. "I feel like Mama… but if this is what her nerves feel like, I wonder that she complains so – it is the best feeling in the world." Mrs Gardiner smile indulgently.

"I am glad for you, Elizabeth. I do not know your Colonel so well, but that is of little consequence when you know him as you do, and he knows you. I will however caution you to consider a longer engagement, because you have not known him a _very_ long time, and marriage is not a state to enter lightly."

"I shall take your advice, Aunt, although I cannot imagine waiting too long to be his wife – I love him so much. Even so, with the trouble on the Continent, I do not imagine he will be at leisure much longer."

"That is another consideration to make, Lizzy. Your beloved is a military man during a tense time; already he has been injured while performing his duty. There is a risk that he may not be your husband for long."

"Do not think I had not considered this," Elizabeth replied solemnly. "But it does not make sense for me to forsake the love I have now, because of the risk it may be taken from me further down the line. Our love will last as long as the Good Lord will allow, and if He does take Fitzwilliam from me, I will know that he died an honourable and courageous man, fighting for our country."

"I know you are a sensible girl, I am glad you had the forethought to think these things through. I am sorry, however, to have ruined your excellent mood."

"There is little which could dampen my spirits right now, Aunt. Already, I have brushed those sombre thoughts from my mind. I am to be married!" she squealed. He Uncle appeared at the door with the Colonel.

"You are indeed, to this fine man here. I have given his suite my blessing, so he may continue to court you here in London, and once he has secured the approval of your father, the announcement can be published." Elizabeth squealed again, and rushed over to her fiancé, who picked her up by the waist and span her round jubilantly, his absolute joy masking the pain in his leg completely. Mr and Mrs Gardiner tried to look severe and disapproving, but the elation radiating from the young couple was contagious, and they could not bring themselves to look harshly on the intimacy.

oOoOoOo

After some discussion, it was decided that Elizabeth would cut short her stay with the Gardiners – the plan had been that she stay until July, but she was now going to stay only until the middle of June. The Colonel would also stay in town, to allow his leg to fully heal, and then he would follow Elizabeth to Meryton. In the meantime, Mr Gardiner would write to Mr Bennet, to inform his that his daughter was being seriously courted, but that no announcement of engagement would be made until he had given his consent.

As the end of her stay approached, Elizabeth began to volunteer less and less at the hospital. As she was only spending two mornings there, she had more time for her fiancé. He called most days, and they spent their time learning the little things about each other, the important things – what time they awoke in the morning, what their favourite season is, whether they preferred their handkerchief embroidered or plain.

"It is not a preference, per say, more a necessity," Elizabeth told Fitzwilliam. "I am quite simply atrocious at it. I can sew quite nicely – I was made to mend enough of my dresses as a young girl – but I am too impatient for the fiddly little stiches that embroidery requires. I will sew myself into knots which I cannot unpick, and it always ends terribly badly. I have resigned myself to forever having plain kerchiefs, unless they are made for me by someone else. My sister Jane's are always exquisite, and sometimes she makes them for me."

"I simply cannot wait to meet your family, you speak so fondly of your sister and your father."

"There is a conversation we must have, and the present seem no worse a time than any." Having observed her countenance turn, Fitzwilliam grasped her hand.

"Is something the matter, Miss Elizabeth?"

"My family, sir… I love them very much."

"As I am sure I will to." Elizabeth shook her head.

"I love them, but I am not insensible to their flaws. When my mother learns of your family's wealth, she will be unable to remember you have none of your own. And she can be," Lizzie paused as she searched for the right words, "overwhelmingly exuberant in her excitement about her daughters' marriages, especially if they might be to men above our current station.

"You said something about my Aunt and Uncle once – you said that you knew they would be excellent people because they are my relations. And my mother is a good person," Elizabeth cried with feeling, "but she does not have my or my Aunt's comportment. She has… nerves."

"Miss Elizabeth, darling Elizabeth, it does not matter one jot to me. As _you_ once said to _me_ ," he smiled in remembrance, "if my wife loves me, I shall have no need of her family – I shall love them as my own, because I love _her_ , but their behaviour and comportment shall have no influence. One does not need to like someone to love them, but if I do like them, then that is all the better.

"We will not reside near them, for we shall be in Town, so how they behave in the country will be of little bearing. But most of all, darling," he curled a finger under her chin until she was looking his straight in the eye, "I shall not have you embarrassed for anything. If your mother is overly exuberant, then she is not unlike most mamas. And if your father retreats to his bookroom at inopportune moments, as I gather he might, then I imagine he is like my cousin Darcy – a little uncomfortable in a crowd.

"Besides, we can have no further discussion about relatives – unfortunate or otherwise – until you meet my Aunt Catherine."

"Aunt Catherine?"

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her husband Lewis was a fine fellow, if a little overindulgent with the wine and a little too flexible to his wife's whims, but my Aunt is also… overwhelming. She just has the advantage of being 'eccentric', on account of being wealthy." They shared an empathetic smile.

"I think that resolves the situation – I shall endeavour to like your mother very much, and if I cannot like her, then I shall love her instead, for she is your mother. And you must promise me that you shall love my Aunt for the same reason; I greatly suspect that you will not _like_ her, though you might enjoy being acquainted with her. I suspect you could have… fun… with her." Fitzwilliam gave her a mischievous grin, which caused her to laugh. All of Elizabeth's anxiety had disappeared. Her beloved's words reassured her that whatever issues they face, they could overcome them together, with not a little laughter.

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 10** **th** **June 1793**

A week before Elizabeth was due to return to Hertfordshire, Colonel Fitzwilliam presented her with an odd request.

"Could I beg from you your amber cross?" Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, but could not detect anything but sincerity in his affable countenance, so carefully unknotted the silk cord that she wore the cross on.

"Can I ask what you want it for?"

"That, my darling Miss Elizabeth, is a surprise." He wrapped her cross in a handkerchief, and placed it gently in his breast pocket. Across the room, Mrs Gardiner smiled to herself as she darned a bonnet in her lap, her eyes averted from the couple. [1] Elizabeth, her mind having been jogged by the sight of his kerchief, leapt up suddenly, before retrieving some folded fabric from her Aunt's sewing basket and returning to her seat.

"I have made something for you, sir." She carefully unfolded the fabric, which revealed itself as three handkerchiefs.

"We shall shortly be parted, and though the time will be brief, if wish you to have something which reminds you of me." Elizabeth handed over her gift, and Fitzwilliam examined them closely. The first one had simply block letters sewn into a corner, which read RF EB. The second was a stylised F, surrounded by a decorative, ivy like pattern. The third featured two rings which we intertwined, with an E in one and an R in the other.

"They are beautiful Miss Elizabeth – you are much more accomplished than you led me to believe."

Elizabeth blushed fiercely, and twisted her hands together. "I will confess now, that I had to make several attempts and… I had some help from my Aunt." Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes softened, and he discretely took her hand.

"Even if you had a little help, they were ultimately your creation, and I shall treasure them – not because of the embroidery, though that is lovely, but because they were the second precious gift you bestowed on me." A small crease appeared between Elizabeth's brows as she tilted her head, puzzled.

"What was the first?" The Colonel squeezed her hand.

"Your heart."

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 14** **th** **June 1793**

Today was Elizabeth's very last visit to the hospital. It was a very emotional day for her, not only because she would miss the women she had worked with and the young men she had looked after, but because she was returning to a life of idleness, to which she had become unaccustomed. While there was a simple joy in a walk through your estate before breakfast, in a new book to peruse all morning, in spending all evening dancing and dining, having fun, there was a pronounced lack of purpose. Here, in London, Elizabeth had tended to the sick and helped the injured, she had held the elbows of men relearning to walk, and held the hands of the dying. She had witnessed more of life in these short months than in the seventeen years of life beforehand. It was unladylike, it was crude, but it was meaningful.

Before, she had heard the Reverend talk of charity, and she had practised it. The household had given each tenant a purse of coins at Christmas, and each tenant's wife a basket of jams on the New Year. A new baby received a swaddling cloth, the sick elderly a blanket.

But she could see now that this was not true charity. The men were pleased and the women grateful, and the household were proud of themselves for having 'done good'. But she saw real charity, true charity, in the actions of the other nurses, who worked tirelessly to make the men in their care safe and comfortable and well.

She saw kindness, and compassion, things she thought she knew, and had seen plenty of. Yet while she would not belittle the small kindnesses she had always known – a borrowed bonnet when hers had torn, a gifted penknife when hers was lost – they seemed insignificant next to the feats she had witnessed in the hospital. The recollection of one nurse who had stayed by the bedside of a devout young man for a whole day and night to read him his favourite passages from the scriptures, until the soldier had passed away, still brought tears to her eyes.

As she said goodbye to her patients for the last time, they thanked her earnestly, and she thanked them in return, for she would leave the hospital a different woman to the one who had begun there, and for that small fact, she was eternally grateful.

That evening, Colonel Fitzwilliam dined with Elizabeth and the Gardiners at Gracechurch Street. It was a meal made up of the young couple's favourites for it was to be their last meal together in London. On Saturday, Elizabeth would journey to Longbourn in Fitzwilliam's carriage, accompanied by one of the Gardiner's maids and the footman, who would then return to London with the carriage. The Colonel himself would follow the next week, once all of his affairs were in order.

After the meal, the younger gentleman asked if he could have a few minutes alone with his beloved, and the Gardiners consented – though they did leave the door far ajar.

"It is my turn to gift something to you, darling Elizabeth." He guided her into a seat, then sat down beside her. From his pocket he withdrew a handkerchief – one of the ones she had embroidered, in fact – which was wrapped around a small box. Slowly, he unwrapped the kerchief and opened the box, and he turned it for her to see.

Settled in deep blue satin was her umber cross. Gone was the modest silk cord, and in its place was a delicate gold chain. The cross sat at the centre, and on each side, six table cut diamonds were set in filigree gold enclosed backs. The effect was exquisite, and Elizabeth gasped.

"The cross, you told me, was your paternal grandmother's, which you have worn since you were old enough to be trusted with it. It is the old, the foundation on with you as a person were able to grow into the beautiful, kind, generous young woman I fell in love with.

"The chain is new. It is entirely unworn, a clean slate; the present begins the start of our life together. We are both inexperienced – neither of us know that married life shall bring, but we are certain it shall include joy and happiness.

"The twelve diamonds are Fitzwilliam jewels, which I had he jeweller recut to suit you better. They are there to welcome you into a new family, a family we shall make for ourselves, for the two of us… someday, there will be more. They are our future together, and I would be honoured if you would wear this necklace for me on our wedding day, so that when we say our vows," Fitzwilliam grasped her hand emotionally, "when I declare my love for you to the whole world, you shall have the past with you, the present in your mind, and the hope for the future guiding you."

Elizabeth had tears cascading down her cheeks. She had never been more grateful for the man in front of her. She reached out a reverent hand, letting the necklace fall across her palm, and closed her eyes. Her voice was full of emotion as she asked,

"I will put it away safely until our wedding day, but will you, now…" Fitzwilliam held the necklace in one hand as he cupped the side of her neck in the other. Elizabeth lifted her hair out of the way, and her fiancé clasped it around her neck. When he leaned back, he too had tears in his eyes as he murmured,

"I didn't think you could ever look more beautiful, but here you are…" The depth of emotion in his voice made Elizabeth's heart sing, and the warmth in his eyes made her blood rush. His hand came up to her neck again, then it moved to cup her cheek, and he moved towards her slightly, his eyes flicking down in askance. When she nodded and closed her eyes, he pressed his lips to hers, and through the rush of emotion, the feel of her love for him welling up inside her, the confusion of her first kiss, she had one thought which overwhelmed all others.

 _This is home._

oOoOoOo

[1] During the Georgian period, married women wore linen bonnets, which we now call mob caps (they only got this name during the French Revolution when the poorer women involved in the riots wore them, though they had been a fashion of the middle class and aristocracy throughout the eighteenth century). Originally an informal style, the bonnet became a high-fashion item as part of the adoption of simple 'country' clothing in the late eighteenth century.


	6. Chapter 6

oOoOoOo

 **Saturday 15** **th** **June 1793**

Elizabeth's return to Longbourn was a joyful one. Twelve and fourteen year old Lydia and Catherine were let out of the school room for the occasion, and fifteen year old Mary had even put on a cheerful blue pelisse to greet her outside. Elizabeth was a favourite of her sisters', because though she was more likely to lecture them than Jane, she was also more likely to sneak them sweets, and take the blame when their mischievous tricks were discovered.

The family was lined up outside the house as the carriage pulled up, and Elizabeth could hear her mother making comments about the carriage was the footman opened the door.

"Well I never, such a fine thing – my brother Gardiner must be doing very well if he is able to get such a carriage for just his niece to use." Her father handed her out with a smile and a wink. "If only Mr Bennet would let me buy a carriage as lovely as that one, well! that would be just the thing. But he does not, so we shall have to visit my brother Gardiner to be in one so fine."

Mr Bennet engulfed her in a warm hug, then moved away for the two youngest sisters to squeal and leap at Elizabeth. She wrapped her arms around them and laughed – she had missed all of her sisters during her eight months in London. Jane and Mary had been faithful correspondents, but Lydia and Kitty wrote only infrequently, and Lizzie had missed their cheerful chatter.

Next was Mary, who gracefully kissed Elizabeth's cheek and welcomed her home, then Jane wrapped her arms around her shoulders and leaned their cheeks together.

"I have missed you, Lizzie."

"And I, you." Jane had a sparkle in her eyes, which flicked towards the carriage, and whispered,

"When shall we be meeting your Colonel?"

"He will come to Meryton next week, I do not know when, exactly. You have not told anyone?"

"No, only Father and I know, just as you asked. I did not like to keep it a secret, but I understand not wishing it to be public until your young man has formally asked our father – and we can be sure that as soon as Mama knows, it will be in the ears of Lady Lucas and Mrs Goulding immediately." They made their way towards the house, their arms linked and their heads bent together.

"How has Papa been? His letters were short and infrequent – has he said anything about my engagement?"

"Just that you sounded very happy, and that our Uncle Gardiner had passed on his absolute approval. I think he was disappointed that your Colonel did not visit immediately after his proposal, but Papa understood that he was injured and unable to travel long distances." Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.

"I do so wish for everybody to get along. I love Fitzwilliam so much, but I love you all as well." Jane smiled, and nodded her understanding.

The evening Elizabeth spent in the company of her family. The youngest girls demanded stories of dinners and dances and men. Elizabeth described the fabulous dresses and sumptuous meals; she talked of the gentlemen she had met, but did not talk of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Jane and Mary wanted to hear of her work with the hospital, so Lizzie gave them a sanitised version – she focused on the physical and spiritual healing of the men, and did not talk of the death she had seen, the nightmares she had heard.

After dinner, her father called her into his bookroom. She curled up in a chair by the fire as she had always done, and Mr Bennet poured himself a glass of brady from the decanter above the fireplace, and sat himself in the chair opposite her. The sat for a while in companionable silence, before Mr Bennet spoke.

"So you will be leaving me then." His tone was sombre and sad.

"You have not given your permission for me to marry yet. But yes, Papa, I will be leaving."

"I have no doubt that I will have to say yes, because any man good enough for you to accept must be good enough for me to accept. But when you leave, I shall be lost to silly talk of lace and fripperies," Mr Bennet huffed good-naturedly.

"I know that Jane is too sweet to frustrate you with such conversation, and if you take the time to draw her out, Mary is just as much a conversationalist as I am. Truly, I do not think you will miss me so much."

"Oh no, I shall miss you terribly, Lizzie. My little girl is all grown up." Elizabeth was determined not to let him be miserable.

"But do not think of it as lose me, but as gaining a son – an intelligent son who I can assure you will have plenty of interesting conversations with. While he does not debate as you and I like to, he does enjoy some intellectual back-and-forth."

"Hmph."

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 18** **th** **June 1793**

Mornings were leisurely for the Bennet family. Mr Bennet was in his study, Mrs Bennet was reviewing Cook's menu for the next week, Mary was perusing an analysis of the Scriptures, Lydia and Kitty were not in the schoolroom. When Jane spotted a rider making his way down the road she alerted Lizzie, and soon the front parlour was filled with the entire family.

"I wonder who it could be, for I do not recognise the figure, and I am sure I have never seen that horse before," Mrs Bennet wondered aloud. Jane shared a secretive look with Elizabeth, who had recognised the rider immediately. Colonel Fitzwilliam had come.

The women watched discretely from the window as he dismounted, before handing the horse to a groom, whom he tipped. Straightening his jacket and brushing off his breeches, he strode towards the door; the women all dashed from the window to various positions about the parlour.

"I certainly do not recognise him. And he is hardly handsome at all, though his cloths looked quite fine. Perhaps he is here to see your father."

"No Mama," Elizabeth felt it was finally time for her mother to be brought in on the secret, "he is here for me."

"Here for you? Why ever should he be here for you, you silly girl." The derisive tone with which she spoke to Elizabeth was not unusual.

"He is a gentleman I met in London, and he has come to visit me."

"Well, you are sure of yourself, aren't you Miss Lizzy. I am sure you must be mistaken, for I do not know why a man you met in London would come here. Is he a tradesman?"

"No, Mama, he is a Colonel in His Majesty's Army. And he is coming here to see me, I am certain of it." After several minutes, Fitzwilliam had still not appeared.

"Redcoat or not, he must have come to speak to your father, though what about, I cannot imagine." Until her father had given his formal permission, Lizzie was unwilling to let her mother know – the longer she could stave off the squealing, the better – but the waiting was beginning to grate on her nerves. After another ten minutes, the parlour door opened, and Mr Bennet entered, followed closely by the Colonel.

"Mrs Bennet, may I introduce Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Colonel, my wife Mrs Bennet, my eldest Jane, Mary, Catherine and Lydia. Kitty, Lydia, off with you now." The young girls pouted, but knew to obey their father's stern tone of voice. Fitzwilliam bowed smartly, and took Mrs Bennet's hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Madam. I bring good tidings from you brother, with whom I dined yesteday. Both he and his wife are in excellent health." Mrs Bennet giggled, quite charmed by his flattering manner, though not by his looks.

"I am glad to hear it Colonel. What brings you to Longbourn? You cannot have travelled all this way to bring us news of the Gardiners."

"Indeed not. I bring much more joyous news." He made his way across the room and took his place next to Elizabeth. She placed her arm in his. "Mr Bennet has done me the great honour of granting my request to marry your daughter, Elizabeth."

"Oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Oh, oh!" Lizzie winced at the shrieking. Catching her expression, Fitzwilliam just squeezed her hand and grinned. Jane rushed over to embrace her sister, and wish the gentleman the upmost happiness. Mr Bennet stood to the side of the room, by the fireplace, with a melancholy smile on his face.

"My good sir," a concerned look had suddenly formed on Mrs Bennet's face. "Are you sure it is Elizabeth you wish to marry? Because my Jane is ever so handsome, much prettier than Lizzie, and so gentle." The dark look in Fitzwilliam's eyes was enough to disabuse any of the present company of that notion, but he felt it must be verbally expressed as well.

"I love Miss Elizabeth more than anything else in this world, and you, Madam, shall not convince me to give her up for anything, not even your eldest daughter. While I am sure she is beautiful, she is not my Elizabeth – the only woman I wish to marry. I would beg you, say nothing more on this topic."

Mrs Bennet flapped her hands and murmured her apologies, but Fitzwilliam brushed them off in favour of taking in Elizabeth's features, which he had not seen since five days prior. It had been too long.

Elizabeth guided Fitzwilliam to a long seat, and gestured for Jane to join them on her other side.

"Fitzwilliam, this is my dearest sister, Jane."

"It is an honour to meet you, Miss Bennet. Your sister talks of you endlessly, I have been anticipating our meeting for weeks now."

"I am pleased to meet you as well, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Jane replied sweetly. "We are to be brother and sister, so I should dearly like for us to get to know one another."

The Colonel stayed for dinner before returning to his room at the inn in Meryton. Elizabeth was very pleased, because her fiancé had gotten along very well with her family, even her father seemed pleased with him by the end. That night, Elizabeth slipped into Jane's room after everyone had gone to bed.

"What did you think of him, then?" she asked as she wiggled under the covers next to her sister.

"I thought he was a very kind gentleman. He was well spoken, and elegant, and thought he is not handsome, there is something pleasing in his countenance. I like him very well."

"I am glad," Lizzie cried, "I wish for the two of you to be the best of friends."

Elizabeth slept with Jane that night, not wishing to leave her favourite sister's side. It had hit her quite suddenly – the realisation that she had been away from her family for most of the year, and when she married the Colonel, she would be leaving for good. London was not a great distance away, but even so, she would never again live daily life with her sisters at her side. Her whole life was changing.

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 19** **st** **June 1793**

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam returned to Longbourn the next to sort out all of the details with Mr Bennet. Having been given permission by Mr Gardiner – and having been told of Mr Bennet's tacit approval of the match – Fitzwilliam had already had his solicitor write up the marriage contract. He spent the morning with in Mr Bennet's bookroom with him, and the gentlemen emerged at lunchtime, both satisfied with their negotiations. The date of the wedding had been agreed as four weeks hence, which Elizabeth was sure was not soon enough, and Mrs Bennet cried was far too short a time to plan a wedding.

Fitzwilliam rode back into Meryton to have lunch and freshen up, before he spent the afternoon with his fiancé and her family. He was properly introduced to the youngest girls, whom he had only seen briefly the day before, and suffered through their interrogations with his usual affability.

"Have you ever been to war?" Lydia demanded.

"Yes."

"Have you been injured?" Catherine asked.

"Indeed. That is how I met your sister – I was brought to the hospital where she was volunteering."

"Have you ever killed someone?"

"Lydia!" Elizabeth intervened, "you cannot ask thing like that."

"I don't see why not," the young girl whined, "I just want to know."

Fitzwilliam winked at Elizabeth and said,

"I am afraid I cannot disclose any detail, it was a classified mission. In fact," he lowered his voice, "I should not even be talking about it like this. Will you promise me that you will not tell _anybody_ about this conversation, Miss Lydia. It is of the upmost importance that you do not."

Wide-eyed, Lydia nodded her head rapidly.

"No, you must _promise_ me, Miss Lydia."

"Yes, sir, I promise." Fitzwilliam sighed loudly, as though greatly relieved. Impressed with herself, Lydia moved away, no doubt to tell Kitty all about what she had learned. Elizabeth turned to the gentle with her eyebrows raised, impressed.

"I do say, sir. I have never seen such masterful manipulation of my sister in all my life. You shall have to teach me how to do it." The Colonel just smiled softly at her, an adoring look on his face.

"So you can use it on me? I do not think so."

"But I must have a weapon of some sort, sir, for all you must do is look at me, and I can do naught but give in." Fitzwilliam took her hand, and after a sideways glance at the rest of her family, pressed a loving kiss to the inside of her wrist.

"Well all _you_ must do is smile."

oOoOoOo

 **Saturday 22** **nd** **June 1793**

The weather had been miserable for several days. It was an uncomfortable combination of warmth and constant drizzle which kept the lovers inside, so when the weather finally cleared, the two of them both wished to go out.

"There is a gentle path around the park to the west, which should not be a bother your leg," Elizabeth suggested. Fitzwilliam shook his head.

"I had thought that we could ride out together – with the sort of rain we have had, the ground will be firm but covered in a few inches of mud. It is much more suited to riding." It was Elizabeth's turn to shake her head.

"I do not ride."

"What do you mean you cannot ride?!"

"I mean that I have no inclination to ride, and even if I did, I could not ride proficiently." Fitzwilliam stared at Elizabeth for a long moment, as a look of realisation spread across his face.

"I sense a story." Elizabeth folded her arms.

"There is no story. And if there was a story, I do not wish to tell it."

"Please. Go on, tell me. Please," he cajoled. "Please, you want to really." Eventually, Elizabeth had to smile at his silly behaviour.

"It is nothing, Colonel, I simply cannot ride."

"No, no, I do not think that is all. Come now, Miss Elizabeth, tell me."

"Oh fine," she huffed. "When I was learning to ride as a child, I fell off and hit my head so hard I had to stay in bed for a fortnight because the dizziness and pain was so bad. There, are you happy now?"

"Happy that such a thing happened to you, never. But am I happy that you shared a personal detail about your life with me? Of course. You are to be my wife, darling Elizabeth, I wish to know everything there is to know about you."

Elizabeth's features softened. "I understand that, I suppose."

"Did you never properly ride again after your accident?"

"No, sir. I am too scared. I like horses themselves, when I am on the ground, but I simply cannot get into a saddle." Fitzwilliam began pacing decisively.

"We are going to change that."

"What? No, no! I do not wish to be able to ride, I have managed quite well all these years without it."

"But you are missing out on so much, Miss Elizabeth. Please, this is an experience I wish to share with you – let me teach you how to ride."

"Colonel, I would really rather not." He took her hand.

"I will, of course, respect your wishes on this if you truly do not want to, but let me make one final attempt to convince you.

"Once we are married, I have arranged for us to take a trip – rather than go straight to the apartments in London, I have leased a house in Ramsgate for us. I am assured it is a wonderful house, on the seafront with unparalleled views of the water." Lizzie gasped as her eyes lit up with delight.

"Oh Goodness, how thoughtful of you." She impulsively kissed him on the cheek. "That shall be wonderful, thank you ever so much."

"But you see, I had my father's head groom scour Yorkshire for a suitable pony for a lady, and he wrote back just days ago to inform me that he acquired a mount, which is currently staying at Wentworth until I send for him. I had thought, you see, of us taking leisurely rides together on the beach and along the promenade."

"That does sound lovely. But you had not realised that I could not ride."

"Exactly so. If you truly do not wish to learn, that is your choice – I can easily gift the horse to my ward, Georgiana – but I had looked forward to sharing an activity I love with you, the woman I love." Fitzwilliam could see that his remarks had swayed Elizabeth; he was certain she would shortly give in. He was glad, because none of what he had said was untrue. He would always respect her choice to decline his requests, but he dearly wished to share with her every part of himself, including his love of horseflesh.

"If you promise to be gentle with me, then I would gladly let you teach me how to ride," she capitulated. "But you must promise to let me off anytime I ask." The Colonel was overjoyed that Elizabeth had agreed, she could see it in his eyes.

"Whenever you wish, I promise." In his exuberance, he caught her by the waist and spun her round – she laughed out loud at his silliness, but placed her hand on his shoulders so he could lift her again. When they stopped, Fitzwilliam kept his hands on her hips and drew her closer to him. Elizabeth's hands slipped down from his shoulders until they were hanging by her sides – she did not quite know what to do with them.

Elizabeth had to tilt her chin up to keep looking Fitzwilliam in the eyes, and she immediately saw him gaze flick down, first to her bosom, then to her lips. Though she was nervous of the intimacies developing between them, she could not help but be flattered at his attention. She closed her eyes as his face lowered towards hers, and sighed gently as their lips met. It was brief and gentle – a kiss for beginners. When Fitzwilliam withdrew, his gaze flickered between her eyes in an attempt to assess her feelings. When all he could see was a reflection of his own love, he leaned back down and kissed her again.

oOoOoOo


	7. Chapter 7

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 24** **th** **June 1793**

When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Longbourn, Elizabeth was making her way out of the house with a woven bonnet on her head and a basket in the crook of her arm.

"Good day to you, sir," she called as he handed his horse over to a groom.

"Good day to you, Miss Elizabeth. You are off somewhere?"

"To gather more St. John's Wort. We brought some into the house last night so ward off the malevolent spirits, but the medicinal oils we distil from it are more effective when the flowers are harvested on the day of St. John's Feast. I am off to gather the plants now before we join the celebrations later." [1]

"I see, very good. Would you care for company?

"Let me call one of my sisters to join us, and we can make a party of it."

Elizabeth skipped back into the house and re-emerged carrying a second basket.

"If you are to join us, sir, you might as well make yourself useful," she laughed, handing it over to him. He took it from her and tucked it into his side, liftin his chin elegantly and extending a leg behind himself.

"How do I look?" he asked solemnly.

"Quite ridiculous," was Elizabeth's reply, but his ensuing pout disappeared when she continued, "It is just as well that I love you dearly, and think you handsome even as you are silly." Fitzwilliam looked about surreptitiously for observers; when he could find none, he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth.

"That, sir, is why I have had to ask my sister Jane to accompany us – you have no self-control."

"I see no need for such discipline when I am so in love with my darling Elizabeth, especially when I am assured she feels similarly for me." Elizabeth shushed him just as Jane joined them, and the small group set off in the direction of Oakham Mount.

"Do you remember," Elizabeth asked as the hill rose on the horizon, "when I told you about this place?"

"I do, in fact. I believe this is where you made a spectacular fool of yourself by getting hurt after some birds made you jump." Jane looked shocked and slightly scandalised by his answer, but Elizabeth erupted into peals of laughter.

"I cannot say that is an inaccurate recollection of my story, though I would not want it repeated as such outside of present company."

"In that case, I shall have to burn the letter I have written to my cousin outlining, in detail, your ill-fated escapade up a tree." Jane's expression became even more horrified; Elizabeth just giggled again.

"He is not serious, Jane, do not worry." But when the Colonel did not confirm this, Elizabethh turned to him and demanded,

"You have written no such letter? You haven't? Colonel, answer me!" It was Fitzwilliam's turn to laugh.

oOoOoOo

They meandered slowly back to the house, with one basket filled with the yellow flowers of St John's Wort, as well as one of lavender and one of wild rosemary. Jane was trailing behind, allowing the couple to walk at their fast pace. As they made their way through the formal garden, Colonel Fitzwilliam stopped to pick a rose from the bush climbing the wall.

"A rose, for the lady," he said with an elaborate bow, presenting Elizabeth with the deep pink flower. "And it was picked on Midsummer's day, so it will keep until Christmas." [2]

Elizabeth took the rose and rubbed the silky petals on her cheek. "I have a better idea. I shall make a perfume with the rosemary and lavender we picked together today, along with these roses," she gestured to the bushes, "and I shall wear it on our wedding day. But you are correct, _this_ rose I shall keep as long as it lasts." Tucking the flower into her hair, she instructed the Colonel to help her pick the most fragrant roses, which he placed in his basket of rosemary.

"When you come to our wedding smelling of this," Fitzwilliam said in a low, throaty voice, "I shall be reminded of your company today. Especially," the gentleman stood behind her, much closer that socially appropriate, and whispered into her ear, "your company behind the old beech tree while your sister wasn't looking."

A deep blush, not dissimilar in colour to the roses they were picking, flushed through her cheek, and Elizabeth quickly moved away for fear that they would be seen from the house.

"The recollections can only be… enjoyable," she replied, "and luckily, rosemary is helpful for memory. When you are old and grey and halfway off the hooks, I can make the perfume again to remind you that I am your wife, and not your mother's cat." [3]

The Colonel stuck his nose in the air and exclaimed haughtily, "I shall never go mad, though I shall turn grey – no doubt because of my wife's teasing." They held each other's gaze for a long moment, before they both descended into laughter.

Once the roses had been gathered, they lingered in the formal garden while waiting from Jane to catch them up. Colonel Fitzwilliam was intrigued by the plans for all the plants they had collected.

"You say you shall make perfume from the herbs and oil from the St John's wart, but what is it you shall actually do? I have never heard of such things – does the apothecary make the medicinal oils you need?"

"I expect, sir, your unfamiliarity is a matter of class. I deduce that your mother and sisters have never distilled their own perfume?"

"I do not believe I have ever known then to do so, no."

"And does your family home have a stillroom?"

"I think it does, but it is just by the kitchen and anything done in there is done by the servants – it is not somewhere my mother would spend any significant time."

"That is where I differ to your female relatives. We, the ladies of the house, use the stillroom actively, to distil the fragrant water we use for cleansing and as perfume, and to make the therapeutic beverages and oils the household needs. Why would we call out the apothecary for his expensive tinctures when many of his remedies can be made in our home, from herbs on our estate?"

"I suppose that makes some sense. But are not better assured of quality when something is purchased from the apothecary?"

"I shall excuse your words, assuming they are merely ignorance, not based on a desire to insult," Elizabeth said coolly. Fitzwilliam was started by her tone, realising that he had said something wrong.

"We pick the herbs _now_ , after the morning dew has disappeared but before the sun is too high, because this is the optimal time to release the fragrant oils. We can dry the herbs to make to make healing teas; we can distil flowers to make scented waters. Pressing the herbs gives us oil for soaps and lotions; carefully heating them in water over a day gives us the medicinal oils and perfumes. I would say, in fact, that quality in ensured when _our_ stillroom is utilised, not when we rely on the local apothecary." Elizabeth sniffed and turned away.

"I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth, I did not mean to insult your ability. I am just unfamiliar with these things. You see, my sisters, and most of the women of the higher circles are educated in the pretty but useless fripperies of singing in Italian and prancing about in thin slippers – they lack your practicality and initiative. The art of the stillroom is lost to them because they see themselves above such work, but you, darling Lizzy," he took her hand, though she still refused to look at him, "you see it as an opportunity to be innovative, to increase the quality of your family's medicines, to make your own perfume. This is who you are, darling Lizzie, this is why I love you." Elizabeth finally turned to face him. There were tears in her eyes.

"I met you when you were a nurse at a military hospital. Lizzy, that is not something my sisters or my mother would do, and yet it is how we met. You volunteered your time to care for men you did not even know, something the ladies of the upper circles would not dream of doing, and yet this is how I fell in love with you. When I say something silly, when I behave like an absolute dull-swift, it does not mean I do not love you, nor does it mean I do not respect you above all else. [4]

"I hope you can forgive me for insulting you, darling Lizzy. It was unintentional. And I will apologise for when I do it again in the future – you are so unique, so special, so different to everyone I have ever known that when I am trying to understand what it is that makes you so exceptional, I may be insensitive to your feelings. For that, I am truly sorry."

"Oh, I am sorry too," Elizabeth cried with feeing. "You did not mean to insult me, I should not have taken it as such. I am so silly, letting my pride be injured by it."

"You are not silly, my words _were_ careless, and I shall be more careful in the future."

"I do not think you have any problem with your words, not after that very pretty speech."

"I think we can both agreed to be more careful in the future – firstly not to be insensitive with our words, and secondly, not too judge the other's meaning too quickly." Elizabeth nodded quickly, happy that their small disagreement was over.

When Jane finally joined the pair, the atmosphere was once again amicable. The group walked together to the house, dropping the baskets to the back entrance to be taken to the stillroom. Elizabeth offered her betrothed a cup of tea, but the Colonel could see that the ladies were eager to start their distilling, so he bowed to Jane, kissed Elizabeth's hand and called to the groom for his horse.

oOoOoOo

 **Saturday 29** **th** **June 1793**

Elizabeth was bored. She was completely, utterly bored. One would think that having patronised the same dressmaker in Meryton for years, the shop would have all of her measurements. But apparently, they did not. So, for the last three days, Elizabeth had been dragged into town after lunch to be manhandled and measured, ostensibly for the fitting of her wedding dress and various trousseau items.

A pattern for the wedding dress had been chosen first, as it was the most complicated piece of clothing being ordered. She had stood for several hours while all of her measurements were taken and noted, then taken again to check for mistakes. The next day had been fabric choices – most of the time was spend keeping Mrs Bennet away from the lace. Today, Elizabeth was slouched in a chair while her mother and the dressmaker discussed accessories.

"Shall he be married in his uniform?" Mrs Bennet asked Elizabeth. "Ooh, I do love a man in a uniform. I was quite an admirer of the Red Coats in my day. There was one young man, oh, he was ever so handsome, but then your father came along, and, well, there you have it."

"Yes, Mama." Elizabeth had heard this story many times since returning home, engaged t a soldier.

"Will his family be coming?"

"No Mama, they are in Yorkshire for the summer."

"I thought you said he was from some well-to-do family, do they not have the means to travel?"

"His family is wealthy, Mama, but to journey down would mean three or four days – possibly longer - in a carriage for them, just to go back north several days later. I will meet them in the Autumn when they come to London for the season."

Mrs Bennet sniffed, but seemed satisfied. She went back to a swatch of lace the dressmake had brought out. "We shall have this pattern on the bodice, but the sleeves should be made with a layer of this lace instead."

"Mama! I told you, I do not want lace on my dress, only for the veil." Mrs Bennet sniffed again.

"I do not see why you cannot have it for both. _This_ lace came from France, and it is the highest fashion is Town, the dressmaker tells me. The French may have some silly notions about, well, whatever it is they are being silly about, but they do make fine lace."

"Mama, I do not want the lace on my dress, no matter how fashionable or French it is! And considering my fiancé was injured by the French only a few months ago, I beg you to stop bringing it up." Elizabeth would have felt sorry for her manipulation of her mother, especially using the Colonel, but as Mrs Bennet stopped badgering her about the lace, she could not.

Once the dressmaker was finished with her, Mrs Bennet ushered Elizabeth to the milliners. They bought a new bonnet for after the wedding, a wide hat for when the married couple made it to London, and several mobcaps, with different coloured ribbons to tie them with. [5] Elizabeth was looking forward to the colours which would be open to her as a married woman – the deep reds and dark greens which suited her complexion were not appropriate for an unmarried maiden.

When they were waiting for the carriage to brought around from the back of the inn, where the footmen had driven it, the Colonel emerged from the front entrance. His eyes lit up the moment he spotted Elizabeth.

"God afternoon, Miss Elizabeth, Mrs Bennet," he called as he strode over to them, "How are you on this fine day?"

"We are very well indeed, sir," Mrs Bennet replied as the ladies dropped their curtsies.

"Miss Elizabeth," Fitzwilliam murmured again as he kissed her hand. "Are you enjoying your outing?"

"We have been shopping, Colonel," she said, her face expressionless.

"Oh, yes, indeed, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Our Miss Lizzy has been outfitting herself for married life. And the dress for the wedding, oh! When you lay your eyes on her…" Mrs Bennet flapped her hand at her eyes as though stemming a flow of tears. "And the lace, there shall be the most beautiful French lace."

"No lace, Mama," Elizabeth whispered sternly. Her eyes flying to the gentleman, Mrs Bennet suddenly gasped, recollecting her mention of the French. Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced at Elizabeth in confusion, so she gestured to him to scowl. Still confused, a convincing expression of displeasure crossed his face, and Mrs Bennet, terrified of offending her daughter's suitor, quickly changed the subject.

The carriage arrived for them moments later, and the gentleman was quickly issued an invitation for dinner. Once a time was agreed, the Colonel handed both ladies into the carriage, winking at Elizabeth when Mrs Bennet was not looking. Elizabeth pressed her palm to her lips just as the horses began to move, and blew her beloved a kiss as the carriage pulled away.

oOoOoOo

[1] It was believed that bringing the flowers of St. John's wort into the house on Midsummer Eve would protect one from the evil eye, banish witches, promote good fortune and protect the house from fire. The day of St. John's Feast (Midsummer's Day, June 24th) was considered the best day to pick the plant for it to be effective medicinally.

[2] It was said that any rose picked on Midsummer's Eve or Midsummer's day would stay fresh until Christmas.

[3] Off the hooks was Georgian slang for crazy or mad.

[4] A dull-swift is a stupid fellow.

[5] During the period in which this story is set, a mobcap would have been called a bonnet, but to avoid confusion in the future, I have decided to just call a bonnet a bonnet and a mobcap a mobcap.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N I am terribly conflicted about Mr Bennet. He is human, which means he is flawed. I hope I have done an alright job of portraying him in this chapter.

Before I get penalised by other equestrians – I know a 'white' horse is actually grey. But for the sake of readers unfamiliar with the differences between horses with the dominant white gene as opposed to grey horses with white coats, I will call a white-coloured horse white, not grey.

Non-horsey people – sorry for this. I started writing horses, and I just couldn't stop. Whoops.

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 5** **th** **July 1793**

When Colonel Fitzwilliam called at Longbourn, Elizabeth could tell immediately that something was wrong. She prepared his tea just the way he liked it, placed a plate of the sweetest biscuits they had to offer in front of him, and asked his what the matter was.

"My cousin Darcy will not make it to the wedding."

"Oh, Colonel, I am sorry. I know you were looking forward to him standing up with you." Fitzwilliam took a long sip of his tea and ate a biscuit.

"He had come down to London despite it being summer – he had some affairs with his solicitor to settle – and he was going to come to Meryton for the wedding on his way back to Pemberley. But there was a flash flood on the estate, and the main bridge into Lambton, the nearest village, was completely destroyed, several of the tenant properties were flooded and incurred damage, and he lost one of his flocks of sheep – almost thirty animals."

"Goodness, that is terrible," Elizabeth exclaimed, her hands flying up to her mouth in horror.

"Quite reasonably he has had to go back north to sort the entire situation out, but he will most certainly not be back in the next two weeks." Elizabeth reached across and squeezed his arm, unable to think of anything to say.

"I do not know who can stand up with me at such short notice – the rest of my family are in Wentworth for the summer. Most of my friends in the Regulars are on the Continent… Well, it will make Jonesy's day if I have to ask him!" Elizabeth laughed at this, though she was disappointed for the Colonel, he really had been looking forward to seeing his cousin.

"What of Georgiana? Was she not to come with Mr Darcy?"

"She has gone to Pemberley with her brother. It is such a shame, I was anticipating introducing you all. Georgie wrote that she was very excited to meet you, but that shall have to be put off."

"I will be very pleased to meet her, she sounds like a very sweet girl. Will she go to school?"

"No, I think not. My sisters attended a finishing school on the Continent, but with the present political climate, that is impossible – and not safe for her. I do not think Darcy will wish to send her to a seminary here instead; once she has outgrown a governess, he will most likely get a companion for her." Mrs Bennet interrupted at that moment to check Elizabeth was seeing to his needs satisfactorily.

"For Elizabeth is ever so attentive," Mrs Bennet explained, "but she gets distracted, you see. Not that she needs reminding, just that sometimes she need to be asked." The elder woman returned to her seat as though she had not just completely contradicted herself. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam shared a laughter-filled glance as she poured him more tea.

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 11** **th** **July 1793**

"This is very high up." Elizabeth's voice was shaking nearly as much as her hands. She was perched precariously on the back of her new pony, who had finally made it down from Yorkshire. The moment the animal had settled into Longbourn's stables, Colonel Fitzwilliam had been asking her to have her first lesson.

Elizabeth was quite fond of the pony, from a distance. She had been told he was a type of Irish pony – a Connemara – and she could well imagine him in the wilds of west Ireland. His coat was pure white; his eyes were kind and coal-black. His mane and tail were long and full, slightly yellowing at the end. He had a deep, solid chest and strong-looking hind quarters – as though he would be sturdy to sit on but quite capable of throwing her.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had lifted her onto the side-saddle, making sure she was positioned correctly for balance and elegance. He then buckled a leather strap around the horse's neck and directed Elizabeth to hold on to it.

"I have the reins – the last thing you need to think about is directing him," he had said. Presently, he was leading her around the stable yard at a very slow walk. The snail-like pace did nothing to calm Elizabeth's nerves; Fitzwilliam could see she was quivering like a leaf. After five laps of the yard, he reined the pony to a halt.

"That is enough for today."

"But I didn't do anything," she protested from her position in the saddle. Despite being quite terrified, once Elizabeth had decided she was going to do something, she did not back down for the challenge.

"Exactly. You are going to go inside, steal one of Cook's cakes and have a walk through the rose garden. You accomplished todays goal – you got on his back, you went for a ride and nothing bad happened. We shall do the same tomorrow."

oOoOoOo

 **Saturday 13** **th** **July 1793**

By the time she had her third lesson, Elizabeth was not shaking. She waited for Fitzwilliam to lift her into the saddle and hand her the stiff whip. The reins were looped over the pony's head and resting on his neck, though the Colonel still had a loose grip on one side.

"Ask him to move forward," the gentleman instructed. Elizabeth squeezed her leg at the same time as pressing the whip into the pony's side; the animal started forward into a walk, with Elizabeth maintaining her position.

"Now ask him to turn left." This time, Elizabeth pushed with her lower left leg while she placed the whip behind the girth. She kept her back straight, her gaze up and her shoulders angled towards the direction she was turning, as she had been instructed to do.

"And now turn right." Elizabeth did the opposite to turn the horse around.

"Look down." She did so, realising that while Fitzwilliam was walking alongside her, he was no longer holding the reins. With a quick grasp on the neck strap the pony was pulled to a halt so Elizabeth could panic.

"Why did you let go," she cried.

"I let go the moment he started walking, Miss Elizabeth. You did all of that by yourself, I had not control over any of it. I just wished to show you that you can do this, you only lack the confidence."

"You had… I was… hrmm," she scowled fiercely at him, though she actually was very proud of herself.

"I never had any doubt that you would be able to ride; you never got your confidence back after your fall as a child. Now pick up those reins, and let's get you into a trot."

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 15** **th** **July 1793**

When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived outside Longbourn, a footman was waiting for him with a message that Elizabeth had already gone down to the stables. Fitzwilliam dismounted and walked with his horse's reins in hand. He found his betrothed waiting by the horse fields in her riding habit – it was a full, soft-blue petticoat with a high-waisted riding coat. Her miniature top hat was cocked at an angle on her head. He admired from a distance the way the short front of the jacket emphasised her waist, the way the ruffled stock at her throat drew his eyes to her long neck. He realised she was watching her horse run in the field; the gelding had not been brought in by the groom yet.

The pony was galloping parallel to the fence, his muscular neck arched, his white coat gleaming and his tail high. His hooves snapped smartly as he turned with a rear, a whinny piercing the air.

"Have you decided what to name him, yet," Fitzwilliam asked as he came up behind Elizabeth.

"I had wanted to wait until I knew him better, but after watching him today… Arion. I shall call him Arion." Fitzwilliam's eyebrows knitted for a moment.

"I do not believe I know the reference."

"Arion was a horse, divinely-bred – sired by Poseidon. Homer said of him in the Iliad, 'there is no man that shall catch thee by a burst of speed, neither pass thee by, nay, not though in pursuit he were driving goodly Arion, the swift horse of Adrastus, that was of heavenly stock'. Having watched him run… I think it suits him."

"You read the Iliad?"

"Not in the original ancient language, but I have read a translation, though not _all_ twenty-four books," she said with a laugh. "Have you?"

"The son of an Earl, educated at Harrow and Cambridge, an officer in his Majesty's Army, have I read Homer's Iliad?" he paused dramatically, "No." Elizabeth giggled. [1]

"That is a lie. I did read it, of course I did, I just forgot it all as soon as I had studied it."

"My fiancé," she giggled again, "the scholar."

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 18** **th** **July 1793**

The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon. The birds had ceased to sing, and the bats were swooping above the pond, catching the insects which were hovering in swarms. The sky was a deep blue, with streaks of purple and pink. Mr Bennet's study door creaked.

"I thought you had gone to bed?" Mr Bennet asked as Elizabeth shuffled in, wearing her nightdress and dressing gown.

"I did – go to bed, that is. I couldn't sleep." She curled up in a chair by the unlit fireplace, tucking her feet into herself and resting her chin on her knees. She waited in silence for her father to finish with the ledger in front of him, before he joined her by the fire.

"Papa, I'm getting married in a week."

"I know, sweetheart."

"Papa, I'm getting _married._ "

"I know, sweetheart." There was another silence for a while, as they both reflected on the magnitude of the coming events.

"You know, I never thought you would be the first to leave me. Oh," he exclaimed, "I knew you would marry someday, I knew that there would be a man who would see what a gem you are. I just did not think it would be so soon."

"I love you, Papa."

"But you love your Colonel as well."

"Yes Papa."

"Then I am glad. Fitzwilliam is the one man other than me, I think, that truly appreciates you. You will be happy together."

"I think so too, Papa."

Mr Bennet sighed, "Well, I shall finally be rid of all sensible conversation. Jane shall smile and nod, but she does not debate as you do, and I tire so easily of Mary's sermonising."

"If you gave her a chance, you would find that she can hold a conversation just as well as I can." Mr Bennet huffed in disbelief. It was a point Elizabeth had tried to impress upon her father before, but a late evening, a week before her wedding, was not the time to try again.

"Nevertheless, I will not be too far away – when we come back from Ramsgate we will be living in London. It is surely not too far for you to visit?"

"I suppose not – though you young folk should be the ones to visit here."

"Yes, Papa," she laughed. They fell back into companionable silence. There was an eruption of barking from the dog kennels outside.

"There must be a fox or badger going past," Elizabeth said. Mr Bennet agreed.

There was a distance between them that Elizabeth had never noticed before. She had always been her father's favourite child, of that there was no doubt, but now there was a lack of ease in their relationship. She did not know if it was her father preparing to give her away, preparing for her to be another man's. Perhaps it was herself, preparing to sign away her life as a Bennet. Maybe it was all of those things.

It was a sobering thought. On Monday, Longbourn would cease to be her home. She would no longer be Elizabeth Bennet. Everything would change.

She was excited about the newest chapter of her life – the woman she was becoming, the wife she would be. But there was also a deep melancholy which had developed over the past weeks, as she realised how much her happiness had come to depend on Colonel Fitzwilliam. She remembered a time when she was almost that close to Jane. As small children, Elizabeth had been happy when Jane was; Jane had been sad when Lizzie was. But the sisters had not been that close in a long time – since Elizabeth found her interest lay in ancient texts and music and debates, while Jane preferred poetry and drawing and peaceful silence by the fire. They loved each other dearly, and Elizabeth was still closer to Jane than any of her other sisters, but after staying for many months in London, growing into herself independent of her sisters, that childish intimacy had been lost.

Elizabeth had no doubt that she still loved Jane dearly – loved all her family dearly, no matter how infuriating they could be at times – but she had grown up. She was a woman now, about to start a family of her own with the man she loved. In less than a week, Elizabeth Bennet would cease to exist. In her place would be Mrs Richard Fitzwilliam, wife of an army Colonel, daughter-in-law of a peer of the realm.

She felt such a tumult of emotion, it was difficult to separate them all. There was a sense of grief, of loss, that everything that had been was behind her, a part of another time. But there was such profound joy – Elizabeth had found the love of her life, her best friend, the man who would be her husband. Though she would miss her friends around Meryton, though she would feel the distance which comes with talking only through letters, she could not bring herself the regret the choices she had made.

Elizabeth stood up from her chair and sat herself on her father's lap as she had as a child. He did not protest – he put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest, and he kissed her forehead.

"I shall miss you Papa," she whispered into his neck.

"I shall miss you too, my sweet little Lizzy," he murmured in reply. His voice was thick with emotion, but if a tear or two was shed, neither of them pointed it out. They stayed like that for a long time, father and daughter, as they would never be again.

"You shall always be my little Lizzy, no matter how grown you are. Even when you have little ones of your own," he choked a laugh, "even when you have children, you shall still be my sweet little Lizzy.

"I love you, Papa." He kissed her forehead again and tugged at a curl, as he used to do with her youthful ringlets. She embraced him one final time, breathing in the scent which defined her childhood. The book room door groaned as she left. It sounded like goodbye.

oOoOoOo

[1] The Iliad is an ancient Greek epic poem, traditionally attributed to Homer. Set during the Trojan War, the ten-year siege of the city of Troy (Ilium), the Iliad tells of the battles and events during the weeks of a quarrel between King Agamemnon and the warrior Achilles (him with the heel). Though the poem itself only covers a few weeks near the end of the war, it mentions many of the legends about the earlier events, including the beginning of the siege and the causes of the war. As the poem also narrates the events prophesied for the fall of Troy, when it reaches an end, the Iliad tells a pretty complete story of the Trojan War.

Along with the Odyssey – a bit of a sequel, also attributed to Homer - the Iliad is among the oldest surviving works of Western literature, and the written version is usually dated to around the 8th century BC. In the modern, standard version, the Iliad is a whopping 15,693 lines long.


	9. Chapter 9

**Monday 22** **nd** **July 1793**

The morning of the wedding had arrived, and Longbourn was in uproar. Cook had been soaking currants in brandy all week, intended for the sweetmeat in the bride pie. [1] But just as the currants were needed, they could not be found. The pie needed to be in the oven as soon as possible, so all available servants were scouring high and low, while Mrs Bennet was flapping her hands and pacing the passageways, declaring the entire day ruined.

Elizabeth was in her bedroom, attempting to ignore the pandemonium. The ceremony was mid-morning, later than usual, because the reverend was holding an early morning service in one of the chapels in his parish, before he returned to Meryton. [2] She was glad for this, because not only did it allow time for the brady-soaked currants to be found, but she had time to calm her rapidly beating heart.

She was sitting on a chair at the centre of her bedroom, a maid – not involved in the currant hunt – pinning her hair into an elaborate twist at the crown of her head. Her wedding dress lay on her bed, a magnificent blue and ivory creation made with satin and muslin. Jane was sitting on the window seat, observing Elizabeth's transformation from a simply country maiden to a bride.

"I still cannot quite believe that you are getting married," Jane told her.

"Nor can I, Janie. Though it is feeling more real by the minute." Once her dark hair had been tamed as far as possible, Elizabeth stood in her chemise for her corset to be fitted. It was both longer and much tighter than her usual stays, but her mother had insisted. But the time it had been laced up, all of the Bennet sisters had found their way to Elizabeth's bedroom. Lydia was bouncing about on the bed, despite cries for her to stop, and Mary had taken Jane' seat by the window. Catherine was examining all the bottles and pots which covered the surface of Lizzy's dressing table.

"What do you need three different rouges for?" she asked sceptically. Elizabeth laughed, and told her,

"When you are out, and especially when you are getting married, you shall learn the wisdom of have as many different powders at your disposal as possible." Catherine continued to poke around.

"What is this?" Catherine had picked up a bottle with no label, with a bright red ribbon tied about the neck.

"That is my perfume for today," Elizabeth explained. Catherine took a sniff and wrinkled her nose.

"This isn't your perfume, I have never smelled it before." Elizabeth blushed.

"You have never smelled it before because I made it especially for today." Jane interrupted to gush,

"Kitty, it is so sweet – Lizzy and the Colonel went picking together, and she made the perfume from the flowers and herbs they gathered." Elizabeth blushed even deeper as the other sisters squealed.

Mrs Bennet suddenly flew into the room, having heard the loud noise.

"You have found them?!" The sisters just looked at her with confusion, so she demanded,

"The currants, you have found them?" They all shook their heads as Jane broke the news,

"None of us have seen them." Mrs Bennet threw her hands into the air and flew from the room. Elizabeth tried not to panic that the bride pie was still not being baked yet.

The next challenge was getting Elizabeth into the dress. This required all available hands and much dancing to and fro, but eventually she was wearing her wedding dress for the final time. Shouts were heard from the servants' corridor, and Mrs Hill, the housekeeper, entered moments later. She dropped a curtsy, informing the bride that the currants had been found and the pie was in the oven. She left just as promptly as she had entered, though not before she complemented Miss Lizzy on her dress and choice of husband.

It was not long before all of the sisters were wearing their wedding outfits. Elizabeth had wanted them all to be bridesmaids, but while Fitzwilliam had a few of his colleagues attending – soldiers were often travelling and some of his had manged to make it to Meryton for the occasion – there were none that he was comfortable having stand up with him. Instead, Jane would act as maid of honour, for though she was older then Elizabeth, she was unmarried, so they decided tradition could be adapted for the situation. In place of Fitzwilliam's cousin Darcy as the best man, the Colonel had asked his batman Jonesy. Despite the very obvious difference in social standing and breeding, Fitzwilliam told Elizabeth that the young man had done enough for him – far more than could ever be expected – to deserve the honour of standing with him on his wedding day. Though Mrs Bennet protested, Elizabeth was entirely accepting, because if it had not been for Jones raising the alarm about his capture, her fiancé would have died on the Continent.

Her veil was not in place until the family had gathered in the entrance hall. Mr Bennet had tears in his eyes as he watched Mrs Bennet arranged the floating layers of lace and silk tulle so they covered Elizabeth's face and hair. Once she was satisfied, Mrs Bennet ushered the three youngest girls in to the carriage, which would carry them the short journey to the church and return for the bride, her maid of honour and their father.

They waited in anticipatory silence for a while, until Jane moved to another room in search of a mirror as a flower in her hair had come loose. Mr Bennet was the first to speak.

"This is it, Elizabeth. Are you ready?" Elizabeth did not reply immediately, wishing to give her father an answer which was firm and true. Despite the butterflies dancing in her stomach, she did not need much time to think.

"I am, Papa, I am ready. I love Colonel Fitzwilliam; I wish to be his wife."

"Then we shall be off." The carriage pulled into the driveway just as Jane reappeared.

It took the combined effort of Jane, Mr Bennet and two footmen to get Elizabeth into the carriage without a torn hem, snagged veil or lost slipper. One of the footmen, while handing her in, reassured her that her betrothed was already at the church, waiting for her.

"As well as I could tell, Miss, he was a fly in a tar box, but he was smiling something fierce." [3]

Then the door was closed and the three of them were seated – Elizabeth facing forward, her sister and father facing towards the rear. After several jolts in the road failed to illicit a response from her, Mr Bennet leaned forward to pat her knee.

"You must breathe, Elizabeth."

"Yes, of course, breathe." She returned to holding her breath.

oOoOoOo

Having made plans earlier in the morning, the descent from the carriage was seamless. Mr Bennet exited first, then handed Jane out. She stood by the carriage steps ready to catch Elizabeth's dress as the bride was handed down by her father. They took a moment to make sure the dress was falling flatteringly and the veil was in place, before they entered the vsetibule and signalled for the music to begin. The congregation rose as Jane made her way down the aisle, holding a bouquet of pink roses, lavender and rosemary. If Colonel Fitzwilliam realised the significance of the flowers, or even noticed them at all, it was not clear, too captivated as he was by the site of his bride.

On the arm of Mr Bennet, who was in formal wear with a rose on his lapel, a kerchief in his breast pocket to match Elizabeth's dress, she was a vision in a blue and white dress. The full skirt flared from her hips, emphasising the curve of her waist, and though her face was hidden under the veil, her steps were light and joyful. Walking in time to the alter, the love of his life drew closer and closer until she was before him, and her father let go of her hand with a gruff instruction to look after his little girl. The woman in front of him was no little girl.

Both the Colonel and his batman had arrived at the church in full dress uniform. Colonel Fitzwilliam's dress coat was a brighter red than Jones', befitting his rank, but both men had their sabres at their sides. The gold detailing on the uniforms was accentuated by the different colours of light filtering though the stained glass windows. There were many whispers from within the congregation about the best man's good looks – during a lull in the noise, one young lady was heard to exclaim how fine he looked in his red coat. Nobody could say that the bridegroom himself was particularly handsome, but one matron remarked how well his smile brightened his countenance.

The reverend greeted the congregation,

"Dearly, beloved, we are gathered here together in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation…"

Elizabeth was keeping her head down. She knew that regardless of whether she lifted her head, nobody would be able to see her face, yet she was overcome with such a wave of emotion, she had to swallow sharply to stop the tears from flowing. Her wedding was finally here.

"Third, it was ordained for the mutual society, help and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity."

She could see that Fitzwilliam's smile had faded into a solemn joy – she assumed he was feeling the magnitude of the situation as she was. His hands where clasped in front of him, and his head was somewhat bowed. The reverend asked they if they knew a reason the bride and bridegroom should not be married, but they did not. He then gestured for the couple to face one another. To the Colonel, he said,

"Wilt thou have this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

With a choked voice, he replied, "I will." Turning to Elizabeth, he asked,

"Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Her tearful smile hidden behind her veil, she promised, "I will."

Mr Bennet stepped forward to give his daughter away, then Fitzwilliam took Elizabeth's hand and began his vows.

"I, Richard, take thee Elizabeth, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance. This is my solemn vow." He let go of her hand as instructed, to allow Elizabeth to take his in return.

"I, Elizabeth, take thee Richard, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance. This is my solemn vow."

Her eyes were free of tears as Jones approached the alter, passing the ring to the priest, who handed it to Fitzwilliam. Slipping it onto his bride's left hand, he promised,

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The couple were guided to kneel for a prayer, with one line which stayed in Elizabeth's mind – 'ever remain in perfect love and peace together'. That was something she could fervently pray for. As they stood, the reverend guided their right hands together, and declared,

"Those whom God has joined together let no man put asunder.

"For as much as Richard and Elizabeth have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their vow either to other, and have declared the same, by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands. I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Fitzwilliam lifted her veil, tears gathered in his eyes as he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved. Her face was fashionably pale, though he knew that underneath the makeup she was darker, from the sun. His eyes fell to the necklace he had had commissioned for her – he had not seen it since they day she had promised to wear it for the wedding. Then his gaze was drawn to her lips, tinted darker than her natural colour. How he wanted to kiss them. He pressed his lips to hers, and smiled into the kiss as he heard the congregation clap and cheer. He felt her do the same.

Drawing back, his hand came up to cup her face; Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

"My darling Lizzy," he whispered in wonder.

"Husband," she replied.

oOoOoOo

Then came the signing of the register, and the blessings, and the prayers. All the while, the newly married couple kept their hands entwined. As they made their way down the aisle, they saw that the churchyard was filled with people, waiting with dried flowers and grains. The church congregation spilled out from behind them, shouts and cheers filling the air as the couple were showered with luck. Fitzwilliam handed his wife into the open topped carriage which would carry them to Longbourn for the wedding breakfast, climbing in after her. He reached for the pouch which hung at his waist, withdrawing a handful of coins, which he threw in to crowd, much to their appreciation. Then he signalled to the driver, and they were off.

He could not keep his eyes off her. His wife. He had a wife!

"My Elizabeth, my darling Lizzy," he whispered in awe.

The journey to Longbourn was short, but they took a scenic route to allow the guest to arrive at the wedding breakfast before them. It let them some time alone, holding hands, kissing. When they finally pulled into the driveway, they were greeted by the crowd of Elizabeth's friends and family, though he spotted a few red coats mixed in amongst the throng.

The wedding breakfast was a lively affair. Luckily, the bride pie had baked in time, and after the married couple had taken a bite, all of the guests tried a slice for good luck. Fitzwilliam was standing near the fireplace, watching his wife be surrounded by her friends when a familiar voice asked,

"Should you not be in that giggling gaggle with Mrs Fitzwilliam?" The Colonel whirled around, coming face to face with his cousin.

"John," he exclaimed, "I did not know you could make it."

"The purchase of my new estate near Chichester when through last month, so I have been in the country rather than over in Ireland."

"I am glad you could come – Darcy is stuck at Pemberley after a bad flood, and the rest of my lot were never going to come."

"Reserving any sign of approval until they know Mrs Fitzwilliam better?"

"Something like that. But they will all be down in Town for the season, so they can meet my wife in the autumn."

"Well I am here now, so I should like an introduction."

"Of course, of course, I shall go and get her." Colonel Fitzwilliam politely pushed his way into the crowd, returning moments later with his wife on his arm.

"John, I should dearly like you to meet my wife, Mrs Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth, darling, this is my cousin John Ponsonby, the Viscount Ducannon. His father, the Earl of Bessborough, is my mother's brother." Elizabeth curtsied politely, though she had to cling very tightly to her husband's arm. While she knew he came from a wealthy, important family, she forgot most of the time that his father was the Earl Fitzwilliam. Evidently, all of his relations were titled or influential in some way. Noticing Ducannon's attention was caught elsewhere for a moment, she whispered to the Colonel,

"Do not tell my mother a Viscount is here."

oOoOoOo

Colonel Fitzwilliam had arranged for a plain, closed carriage for the journey to London. The newlywed would spend the night at the townhouse in Mayfair before travelling on to Ramsgate the next day. He took a moment to say goodbye to his cousin, and the few friends who had manged to make it Hertfordshire for the wedding. He only needed a few minutes for this. Elizabeth needed much longer.

She was saying goodbye to life as she knew it. Hugging each of her sisters tightly, she whispered her love for them, and made them promise to write. Jane kissed her cheek sweetly and reminded Elizabeth that however far she travelled, she would always have a home in the hearts of those at Longbourn. Next was her mother, who loudly proclaimed how proud she was that her daughter had found a Colonel to marry, though she could have chosen a more handsome one. Lastly came Mr Bennet. He embraced her, and murmured feelingly how much he would miss her, but how glad he was that she had found such a deserving man to fall in love with. She hid her face in his chest to disguise the tears she was holding back.

Waving goodbye to her friends and family who had gathered on the steps of the manor house to see her off, she took her husband's hand. She stepped into the carriage, followed by the Colonel, and the couple set off together towards their new life.

oOoOoOo

[1] Bride pie was the precursor to the wedding cake. It could be anything from sweet bread to mutton pie. An actual wedding cake did not become fashionable until much later, when sugar was less expensive. 'Wedding cake' can be traced back to medieval times, when baked goods were thrown at the lucky bride as a symbol of fertility. There was also a great tradition where scones and biscuits etc were piled as high as possible, and the married couple attempted to kiss over the mound. If they managed it without toppling the pile they were assured a lifetime of prosperity.

[2] In a large parish, like the ones in the countryside, it was considered unreasonable for people in the more distant townships (subdivisions of a parish) to attend the parish church, given the constraints of distance and cost. In these cases, chapels were built.

[3] Fly in a tar box was Georgian slang for nervously excited.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N Fun in the bedroom isn't all poetic and telepathic nowadays, so I figure it was the same two hundred years ago… this was SO much fun to write.

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 22** **nd** **July 1793**

Elizabeth wiped angrily at her eyes in an attempt to stop the flow of tears.

"Oh, I am sick of crying, I have done too much of it already today." The newlyweds were on the way to London, where they would be staying the night. But almost as soon as the carriage had left Meryton and joined the main road to London, she had burst into tears. Quickly gathering her into his arms, Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled her into his lap and cupped the back of her head in his hand.

"Shh, shh, Lizzie, it is alright. You have had a long day, and it has been emotional for everyone – it is no surprise you have some tears to shed."

"But I am so happy," she whimpered into his neck.

"As am I, but it is also a day of such momentous change for you, of course you are a little out of sorts. It is perfectly fine to cry," he reassured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Eventually, she fell asleep on his shoulder, so he held her against him and let her rest.

They did not arrive in Mayfair until quite late in the evening. Elizabeth had awoken, and they had spent the rest of the carriage ride in quiet conversation. Though they were in many ways different, they never lacked for things to talk about.

The Fitzwilliam townhouse was a tall building, with three stories above street level, the kitchens, storerooms, cellar and servants' common room below, and the servants' quarters in the attic. It had a grand, dark-blue door with an extravagant brass knocker. As the carriage pulled up outside, a footman emerged while the butler held the front door open. Elizabeth was handed down from the equipage by her husband and they made their way into the house, arm in arm.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," the Butler bowed, "Mrs Fitzwilliam."

"Thank you, Baker. Which rooms have you prepared?"

"Mrs Baker thought the guest suite on the right would be the most appropriate, sir. There is hot water available at your discretion."

"Of course, of course. Mrs Fitzwilliam, this way," he gestured to the stairs, "Let me show you where to go."

Together, they climbed two flights of stairs. The Colonel directed her through the first door on the right.

"I shall join you in a moment, but if you need a maid to help you freshen up, there is a bell by the dresser." Elizabeth's hand had frozen on the door handle as he spoke, and she glanced up at him nervously. Suddenly understanding her reaction, he quickly reassured her,

"To talk, darling, nothing more." Nodding in understanding, Elizabeth entered her room, and gasped at its splendour. All along, the Colonel had been very clear with her – his family was extremely wealthy. In fact, since his father, Earl Fitzwilliam, had inherited Wentworth Woodhouse and the other estates from his uncle, the 2nd Marquess of Rockingham, the Fitzwilliam family was one of the richest in England. [1] But now she was here, she had tangible proof that her new husband grew up in a world completely different to her own.

The room she was standing in was enormous, at least the size of the parlour at Longbourn. At the centre of the longest wall was a wide, tall bed with spring green drapes which contrasted against the dark wood. All of the furniture in the room was designed to match – the wardrobes (four of them), the chest of drawers, the low table with its two stuffed chairs. The gold detailing on the wardrobes and chest of drawers matched the round mirror which sat above the dressing table, opposite the bed. The heavy curtains which were presently pulled back from the windows was a darker green than the bed hangings, to match the covers of the chairs and the quilts on the bed. Everything looked both very expensive and well made.

She spotted the green and gold chord hanging by the dressing table, which she assumed was the servant bell Fitzwilliam had talked about. Deciding she wanted a few moments alone, she did not ring; instead, she took as seat on her bed. Everything was overwhelming.

She was now a married woman – it did not matter how many times she had repeated this fact to herself over the course of the day, it never lessened in its enormity. She would sleep tonight in a room more grand than any she had ever known.

There was a gently knock at one of the doors – not the one connected to the outside passageway, though which she had entered. Once she called her consent, Fitzwilliam stuck his head around the door to ask,

"Am I welcome?" Elizabeth smile softly and replied,

"Always."

He strode into the room, confident of his reception after her answer, placing a soft kiss to her lips before taking her hand and guiding her to the chairs by the window. The evening was drawing in, so he pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the last of the fading light.

"Did you not wish to change?" he asked, noting her dress.

"I need assistance to take it off, but did not feel like the company of a maid, just yet."

"Oh, I am sorry, did you wish to be left…?"

"No, no," she quickly assured him. "I promise, you are welcome. I just did not feel like the rigmarole of introducing myself to a new maid."

"Of course, of course, I understand. Did you want some wine? I have a bottle in the sitting room."

"That would be lovely, thank you." He disappeared back through the door by which he had entered, which presumably led to their sitting room. She guessed from the fact that they had been given a guest suit rather than rooms in the family wing that Fitzwilliam's usual quarters did not have room for a wife. Her husband reappeared with a bottle of red wine and two glasses in hand, which he placed on the table and poured. Handing her one, he took the seat opposite.

"There were a few things I wished to talk with you about, darling. Do you feel up to some conversation?"

"Yes, sir. What did you wish to discuss?"

"First, how are you feeling after the carriage journey? I know that can be taxing at times."

"I am quite well – the rest did me good, I think, I am feeling somewhat refreshed."

"I am glad. I had hoped you would be well tonight." Though there had been nothing seductive in his tone, she felt herself blushing nonetheless. He noticed the rising colour in her cheeks and continued,

"On that subject – has your mother… that is to say, there are certain thing that you might not…" Though she was feeling shy, Elizabeth only rose to the occasion – she refused to be timid with her husband, not even tonight.

"Colonel, when you visited, did you take note of where I lived?" His brows knotted in confusion, he nodded.

"I grew on an estate which made its money from livestock, sir. Whether or not my mother has taken me aside recently, there are _certain things,_ " here she paused, drawing out her words, "I will know, regardless. But to ease your concerns, yes, my mother has spoken to me. My Aunt Gardiner also wrote me a letter. If I take one lady's advice more than the other's, that is not for either of them to know." Though her brave façade was convincing, she could not stop her face from flushing even more – while she tried to be unaffected by such things, years of society's expectations had been internalised at least a little.

Colonel Fitzwilliam put his elbow on the arm of his chair, resting his chin on the top of his closed fist. He tilted his head to one side as he observed,

"I love you, Elizabeth." The blush grew more pronounced, even as she declared,

"I know." To this, he merely chucked. Finishing his glass of wine, he took her hand, guiding her to stand.

"Would you like me to help you with your dress… so you don't have to _go through the rigmarole of introducing yourself to a maid._ " She swallowed audibly, but turned so he was facing the row of tiny buttons which ran down the length of her back. Her veil had been removed before they boarded the carriage, but she decided not to change from her wedding dress – once she was used to the corset, it was actually quite comfortable. It seemed a waste of such a lovely dress to only wear it for one morning before it was remade into eveningwear. His hands started at the top, slowly – she thought she might have felt his hands shaking a little – but he quickly learned how to pull the satin-covered buttons through the eyes. He got as far as her lower back when he paused. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered,

"Is this what it looked like on the farm?" Her jaw hanging, she whirled around to make sure he had a full view of her disbelief. She simply could not believe he had said such a thing. Quickly realising his attempt at easing the tension was mistimed, he wound his arms around her waist.

"I am sorry, Mrs Fitzwilliam, that was unkind of me. I merely wished to make you more comfortable, but I can see I went about it like an insensitive sod. Please, forgive me?" She stared at him hard for a moment before her shoulders began to shake, and she succumbed to a chuckle.

"Well, I must admit, you do not much resemble my father's prize ram – though perhaps there is some similarity in the hair?" He nodded, agreeing,

"I deserve that." She merely raised an eyebrow. Gesturing for her to turn around again, he finished unbuttoning her dress. He did not know if it was his ill-timed comment or her innocence, but he could see her tensing the lower he got. Deciding to stay behind her, he pushed the dress from her shoulders, letting it fall to her feet before he encouraged her to step out of it. He slung it over the back of a chair as Elizabeth stood, frozen, where he had left her.

She did not know quite what she was feeling. Because of the nature of her volunteering with the hospital, she had become more comfortable with the male body – specifically, she had become comfortable with Colonel Fitzwilliam's body. Though she had never see anything too untoward, gently born as she was, the sight of his bare legs would not bother her, nor would a glimpse of his chest. But in all her time at the hospital, it had been the young men in various stages of undress; Elizabeth had never even bared an ankle to a member of the opposite sex, and here she was being undressed by one.

She could identify a shiver of excitement every so often, but there were other things as well. She could not help a flush of shame as his hands made their way lower and lower – it seemed slightly ludicrous that everything she had been taught to feel about her body was suddenly erroneous, after merely signing a piece of paper. It had been very clear to her since a young age that she was not to allow men to lay their hands on her. The brief touches during a dance did not count, and she had become accustomed to the Colonel pushing certain boundaries – he held her by the waist to lift her onto her horse, in the carriage she had allowed herself to be pulled into his lap. But to be undressed by a man was the epitome of forbidden actions, and while in her mind she understood that now she was married it was perfectly acceptable, the ring on her finger did not negate a lifetime of societal convictions.

Standing at the centre of the room in her long chemise and corset, Elizabeth could not bring herself to move. She just waited, her hands clasped in front of her, for her husband to tell her what to do. That had been her mother's advice – 'do what your husband tells you'. The Colonel's voice jolted her out of her trance.

"Would you like more wine?" he asked, holding her empty glass. When she nodded, he poured some from the bottle, and she gulped down several mouthfuls. He took her hand gently, and led her to the bed.

"Sit down for a moment, darling."

"It is just… a little overwhelming, sir."

"I can understand how it might be," he sympathised, "would you like me to leave you alone for a while?" She shook her head vigorously, so he took a seat next to her on the bed. He would hold her hand for as long as she needed him to.

The sat together in silence while Elizabeth waited for her shoulders to relax and her breathing to slow. Eventually, she turned to face him, though she couldn't look him in the eye, and said,

"I am sorry." He cupped her cheek, making her look up at him.

"You have nothing to apologise for, Lizzy. Today is a day of so much change for you – I am taking all of my cues from you. Let me know what you need."

"I just, I suppose I don't understand how it can be right for you to touch me."

"We are married now, there is no reason…"

"That is what I don't understand!" she interrupted. "Just last week, my father told me off for letting you kiss me when we thought nobody was looking. But now it is all suddenly quite proper!"

"You don't understand how it can be right," he repeated to himself.

"Yes!"

"Stand for me darling," he instructed, and she did, nervously. Taking one of her hands in his, with the other he cupped her cheek and pressed a breathless kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then her lips. Elizabeth's eyes flickered shut as his butterfly kisses travelled across the bridge of her nose, behind her ear, down her throat.

"Does this feel right, my darling?" he whispered, his voice deep. She whimpered from the back of her throat. He slipped behind her and began unknotting the ties of her corset, kissing her jaw from behind. "Does this feel _right_ to you, Mrs Fitzwilliam." He completely undid the corset and pulled it away from her, leaving her in just her chemise. He ran his hands in feathered touches up and down her back, settling on her waist as he asked, "Does this feel right, my darling Lizzy?" He moved in front of her, catching her gaze – he had a look in his eyes she had never seen before. They were dark, and deep; she could not help herself but get lost in their pull.

Guiding her towards the bed, he untied his own cravat, then removed his boots and jackets. Before he touched his shirtsleeves or breeched, however, he caught her hand and asked her permission,

"Does this feel right to you, Elizabeth?" When she nodded, he slipped off his breeches, though his shirtsleeves hung in such that she was not exposed to anything she had not already seen. The summer night was not cold, so the fires had not been lit, but nonetheless, she should have felt some chill, in her state of undress. Instead, she felt fevered – she imagined she would be hot to the touch. There was a fire in her veins she could not explain; she felt sensations she had never experienced before. He pulled the pins from her hair, one by one, brushing his knuckles down her neck and spine as he did so, until her hair was cascading in their riotous curls down her back. He pulled her onto the bed, asking one final time,

"Does this feel right?" Finally, she found her voice, which had been lost to the passion in his, and she answered firmly,

"This feels right."

oOoOoOo

[1] William Wentworth-Fitzwilliam, the 4th Earl Fitzwilliam and the father of Richard in this story, inherited the estates of his uncle Charles Watson-Wentworth, 2nd Marquess of Rockingham, making him one of the richest people in Britain. Wentworth Woodhouse, the estate in South Yorkshire, is thought to be the largest private residence in the United Kingdom (larger, royal residences such as Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle are not privately owned). The house has more than 300 rooms, although the precise number is unclear.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N **Guest** – Thank you for your review. I've been enjoying the mush up till now because very soon there won't be much of it at all. Regarding titles and estates: I cannot find a good explanation for why all the titles of the 2nd Marquess of Rockingham died with him, I can only assume that it was because there were no heirs from a male line – Earl Fitzwilliam was his nephew through his sister. Nevertheless, the estates had to go to somebody, so they went to William Fitzwilliam.

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 23** **rd** **July 1793**

The first thought Elizabeth had when she woke up was that she was hot. Far too hot. She was perspiring with the heat, as though someone had created a furnace under the covers.

The second thought she had was that her husband was to blame. Colonel Fitzwilliam was pressed against her back, an arm lying heavily across her waist. He was still wearing his shirt which he had not removed the night before, but she was not wearing anything. At some point during the evening he had stripped her of her chemise, but she distinctly remembered donning it again before she fell asleep. Perhaps she had removed it in her sleep in an attempt to douse the fire under the coverlet.

It was hot.

Lifting her head enough to see over the side of the bed, she spotted her chemise on the floor by the bedside table. Her dressing gown was hanging on the door of a wardrobe, where she could not possibly miss it, and a tray of tea had been left on the table. Obviously, a maid had already been in.

Gently moving Fitzwilliam's arm from around her waist, she slipped out of the bed, quickly donning her chemise and wrapping her dressing gown around herself tightly – now that she was away from her husband-shaped fireplace, the morning was quite chilly. She tapped the teapot with a finger to test the temperature – it had not yet cooled, so she poured herself a cup and curled up in the chair to wait for her husband to wake. It did not take long.

He stirred, patting at the bed without opening his eyes. When he could not locate Elizabeth, he sat up, his hair knotted and his face crumpled with sleep, and she asked,

"Tea?"

"Please." His voice was gravelly and deep as he rubbed at his eyes childishly. She poured him a cup as he flung himself from the bed, grunted, and disappeared from the room.

"Fitzwilliam?" she called.

"Banyan," he replied as he shuffled back into her room. [1] He was wearing a very fine-looking, quilted banyan, though she had never seen one worn so informally – he had only his nightshirt on underneath, leaving his knees and calves exposed. She could see the deep purple scar of the bayonet wound; it looked much better healed than last time she saw it. Taking his tea, he flopped into the chair opposite her. After taking a few deep sips, he appeared more talkative.

"How are you feeling this morning? You had quite a day yesterday."

"I was ever so tired, but I feel do refreshed. I have never slept in a comfier bed." Fitzwilliam just smirked, and looked up at her from over his teacup. Elizabeth could feel heat rising up her face until it settled in her cheeks, but she held his gaze. They were interrupted as a knock came from the servants' door and a young maid entered with a curtsy.

Richard nodded to his wife before excusing himself. Elizabeth was left in the capable hands of her maid, who introduced herself as Cassie. She had been employed for Lizzy, and would be travelling with the married couple down to Ramsgate.

"Is this your first service, Cassie?" Elizabeth enquired as the girl laced up her stays.

"No, Ma'am. I was a maid for Lady Chichester's daughter, Lady Amelia. But my brother is a footman here for Earl Fitzwilliam, and he told me Colonel Fitzwilliam's new wife needed an abigail. I thought it would be nice to come back."

"I am glad," Elizabeth murmured as she admired the elegant hairstyle the girl had arranged for her. "I think we shall get along very well indeed."

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 31th August** **1793**

Colonel Fitzwilliam was enjoying his stroll along the waterfront. The sun was warm on his back, a cool breeze ran its gentle fingers through his hair, and on the beach below his new wife spun in a truly undignified manner across the sand. The sky was clear, the occasionally fluffy cloud drifting into the horizon, where a hazy outline of the French coastline could be seen.

"Fitzwilliam, look, this one is purple," his wife called as she waved a shell in his direction. Elizabeth had taken an inordinate amount of pleasure from the beach since they had arrived in Ramsgate. To a country-bred young woman, the sea was a wonderous, mysterious sight. As a child she was told stories of sea nymphs and water monsters, as she grew up she learned of its power and strength from the Greek tales, but nothing had prepared her for the sight of rolling blue-green water reaching as far as the eye could see. She had been captivated ever since.

"I can see, darling. Will you bring it home?" he called in reply. Elizabeth had picked up her first shell the day after their carriage trundled into the town. Each time he brought her to the seafront – which was often indeed – she had collected more and more, until every surface in the house had at least three shells to decorate it. Colonel Fitzwilliam enjoyed his wife's delighted innocence. There were times when she was so worldly that he forgot she was barely eighteen years of age, but as soon as she set foot on the beach, her eye lit up with childlike excitement.

He joined her on the sand shortly after, tucking her hand into his elbow. This was how they had spent the last month – arm in arm, hand in hand, together in thought and in body. Theirs was a marriage of true minds. From two completely different backgrounds, with experiences whole worlds apart, they had found another person so uniquely suited as a companion for life.

"I shall begin to make arrangements for the season," Colonel Fitzwilliam told Elizabeth as they meandered back to their residence. "I think we should take apartments in London by the beginning of October – that way we can make all the necessary introductions to my family before the season begins in earnest. It will also give them time to be so thoroughly charmed by you that they cannot help but put an end to any gossip."

"Do you think they will like me, Fitzwilliam? Truly?" Elizabeth was not insensible to the difference in station between their families. The Colonel's father was an Earl, and one of the richest men in Britain. His mother was the daughter of William Ponsonby, the 2nd Earl of Bessborough. Through marriage and blood he was related to the Cavendishes, the Spencers, the Watson-Wentworths. [2]

"I hope very much that they do, Lizzy," he said, even as his brows drew together. "But I also know that my mother will worry about how you, our, presence will affect her reputation, and I know that my father will be concerned about the impact our marriage might have on his political influence. But I also know that you are intelligent, eloquent, beautiful and charming.

"I fell in love with you Mrs Fitzwilliam. Hopefully, my family will as well."

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 2nd September 1793**

The Fitzwilliam's residence in Ramsgate was a handsome townhouse, several streets away from the seafront. The roof had only recently been refurbished with fashionable Welsh slate, which created a pleasing contrast with the red brick from which the house was built. A profitable letting property, the large sash windows had not succumbed to the window tax, as many other houses on the street had. [3] The dining room had a high ceiling, with polished brass fixings and a long table which filled the length of the room. At one end, Colonel and Mrs Fitzwilliam were sat opposite each other.

"This white soup is possibly the best I have ever tasted," Elizabeth exclaimed, "I shall have to ask Cook for the recipe, we must take it to London with us."

"Hmhmm," the Colonel murmured in reply. His attention was on the letter in his hand, not on his wife.

"Try it, Fitzwilliam, it is truly delicious." He hummed in agreement.

"The wind was cooler than usual today. I hope the weather is not turning, we have a few more weeks here, at least." Fitzwilliam did not even acknowledge that his wife had spoken.

Elizabeth finished her soup in silence, then nodded to the footman to take her empty dish, and her husband's untouched one. Under her breath, she instructed him to hold the next course until she asked for it.

"Fitzwilliam, if you do not wish to eat, I shall tell Cook not to send up the pie." In an uncharacteristic fit of irritation, the Colonel crumpled the letter in his fist and slammed his other hand on the table. Hard.

Elizabeth's eyes were wide and shocked when his gaze rose to meet them. "It is fine, really, I'll just call for…" she began as she stood hastily, "Cook can keep.." The Colonel could see her hands were shaking, despite the fact that they were clutched tightly in front of her. His sigh was exhausted as his head fell into his hands.

"Sit back down, Elizabeth."

"No, no, just let me call…"

"Elizabeth, sit down," he growled from between his teeth. She returned to her seat just as quickly as she had risen. The silence between them was heavy, the tension a taught wire that could snap at any moment.

"Did you not want soup tonight? I can make sure that Cook doesn't…"

"Elizabeth, would you please be quiet about the godforsaken soup!" He stood abruptly, kicking his chair away as he stalked to the fireplace, above which a framed mirror was hung. She could see his deep scowl in the reflection. She did not say another word.

"The Continent is a mess. The bloody War Minister has decided some protracted siege of Dunkirk is a good idea, despite the fact that the Duke of bloody York does not have the men, nor any siege weapons. The new French Commander we were _reliably_ informed was not fit to be bloody Commander-in-Chief, Houchard, is still managing to reinforce troop numbers. And now they are sending me to bloody Dover to assess the condition of the garrison there."

"Yes sir," Elizabeth replied, her eyes firmly on her hands in her lap. At the sound of her weak voice, Fitzwilliam whirled around, his face morphing into an expression of horror as he observed her pallid complexion and shaking shoulders.

"My God Elizabeth, I am sorry, I am so sorry." He rushed to her, falling to his knees before her chair, clasping his hands in hers. "Please, darling, do not cry, I am not angry with you. I am so sorry, I should never have spoken to you like that that, it was unforgiveable." Elizabeth just shook her head as she pressed her face into his shoulder. "Shh, shh, I am sorry," he repeated as he cradled her head in one hand, his other running up and down her arm soothingly.

"That horrible outburst was not your fault, Elizabeth, and I should have directed my anger towards those who are responsible, not my wife, who is blameless." He had never known his wife seem so small.

Eventually Elizabeth recovered her composure enough to push Fitzwilliam away.

"Elizabeth?" he asked as he cupped her face, but she would not meet his gaze. Shaking her head again, she threw off his hands and rushed from the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam followed her closely enough to see her disappear up the stairs.

The moment she reached her bedroom she shut the door firmly; after a moment of thought, she turned the key in the lock. Then she rushed to the other side of the room to lock the door between her room and her husbands. That night, for the first night since her marriage, she went to sleep alone.

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 3rd** **September 1793**

If Elizabeth had to guess, she would say it was two o'clock in the morning, or perhaps three. Outside the house, she could hear the pounding of heavy rain as it struck the road, the thunder of its tattoo on the roof tiles echoing through the tall rooms. The glowing wood in the fireplace did nothing to negate the chill she could feel.

After patting at the end of her bed in an attempt to find her robe in the darkness, Elizabeth climbed out of her bed to light a splint from the fire, from which she lit the candles on her bedside table.

The room was lonely.

The behaviour from her husband had been shocking. Upsetting. Frightening. Elizabeth had known the Colonel for many months, had been married to him for many weeks, yet she had never seen him react in such an aggressive manner, to anything. Even in the early days of his rehabilitation at the hospital, he had been frustrated, he had been grumpy, but he had never been hostile. She had never feared that he would strike her. The evening before, she had not been so sure.

Nevertheless, his outburst had been short, and his was quick to beg her forgiveness. And from what she had garnered from his shouting, he would be leaving her shortly. She had to speak to him.

Creeping across her bedroom, she turned the lock in the door separating her room from her husband's. Then she hesitated. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by doubts she never before felt in relation to her husband. What if he wished her to stay away? He said that his anger was not because of her, but what if he had been lying?

With a burst of courage she reached out, grasping the handle firmly and pulling the door open. She did not know what she had expected to find, but the scene before was not it.

The fire was burning bright, as though it had been recently stoked. Candles around the room were lit, though running low. A decanter of brandy was open on mantle; hunched in the chair by the fireplace was her husband. His eyes were red, his expression was blank.

"You have not been to bed?" Elizabeth questioned quietly as she hovered in the doorway. The Colonel was still in the clothes he wore to dinner, though his cravat had been thrown to the floor and his jacket was crumped over the back of the chair.

"Can't sleep." He did not look at her.

"I am sorry, sir, I'll leave you."

"Please don't apologise, Elizabeth, I cannot bare it."  
"I'm sor…" She stuttered, unsure how to respond.

"Don't apologise, I do not deserve it. Just as you did not deserve my atrocious behaviour earlier." He stared down into his brandy. "I am the who has to apologise. And later I will leave you, and this is how I treated you before I left."

"You have to leave?"

"It seems that his Majesty's army is presently lacking in competent leaders – this will just be a short to trip down to Dover, a few days at most, but from the tone of the letter, it shall not be long before I am recalled to active service."

"I do not want you to go."

"I do not want to go either, but it is my duty, and I am needed. So," he sighed bitterly, "I will go where I am told. And my wife will remain here in the knowledge that her husband is a tyrant."

"I do not think that, Fitzwilliam."

"Then why are you cowering by the door like a mouse trapped with a cat?" Elizabeth did not have an answer for him. Colonel Fitzwilliam stood slowly, tipping back the last of his bandy before placing the empty crystal glass on the mantlepiece next to the decanter.

"May I hold you, Elizabeth?"

"Of course, sir, if you wish."

"No, no. For God's sake," he muttered as he drew an exhausted hand down his face. "Please, do not capitulate because I asked. If you would rather I not touch you, you should tell me so, Elizabeth."

It occurred to Elizabeth that she had never given much thought to Fitzwilliam's age. She knew he was a young man, but he was old enough to have earned the medals she remembered pinned proudly to his uniform on their wedding day. As the dim light from the fire and the low-burning candles, his features were thrown into sharp relief – he looked older than he had ever done before.

Hesitantly, she took his hand and pulled him toward the bed. She had never spent much time in the Colonel's bedroom. Their routine had been established very early in their marriage – Fitzwilliam joined his wife in her bedroom, and they slept there together.

They sat on the bed, side by side, Elizabeth's head on his shoulder, his arms around her waist. Every so often, Fitzwilliam would bend his head to place a gentle kiss on her brow.

"I am sorry for shouting at you earlier. I should never have taken my anger at the situation out on you."

"I forgive you, Richard. I hate it too, that you have to leave me."

"I will only be a few days in Dover, then I will be back here. Hopefully, we shall have a little while longer together until I am recalled to service." Elizabeth snuggled further into his neck and sighed,

"I hope so too."

oOoOoOo

[1] A banyan was a men's dressing robe worn over a shirt and knee breeches. When at home, a gentleman would change into an informal knee-length banyan, and wear it around his family at breakfast, playing games, and while reading in his library or writing letters.

[2] This pedigree is real. By saying that Darcy was related to the Fitzwilliams through his mother (and showing how closely, with his cousin the Colonel being the son of the Earl), Jane Austen was telling her readers just how close to the peerage he was, regardless of being a 'gentleman farmer'. It does put Lady Catherine's reaction into some perspective. Interestingly, the Fitzwilliams had a reputation during Austen's life of being fair and benevolent landlords and not inactive on the social reform scene – basically, Austen was giving readers the hint that Darcy was ultimately a good guy, just from the association.

[3] The window tax was a property tax determined by the number of window the house had – it was designed to impose tax relative to the prosperity of the taxpayer, but without the controversy which then surrounded the idea of income tax (people did not like the idea of disclosing personal income, which was seen as an unacceptable intrusion by the government into private affairs). In England and Wales it was introduced in 1696 and repealed in 1851. This led to some windows being bricked in.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N PJC – Thank you for your review. She calls him Fitzwilliam for a couple of reasons. Firstly, even in the privacy of their own homes, married couples often referred to each other as Mr and Mrs Surname. Elizabeth and the Colonel are a love match rather than one of convenience, so the formality of a title is dropped. Secondly, while she occasionally uses his first name, she is simply in the habit of calling him Fitzwilliam. That is what she called him while they were engaged, so it is the name she associates him with. Rather like if you have a friend who goes by a nickname, eg. Mike. You know his name is Michael, and you might call him that occasionally, but in your head he is called Mike.

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 6** **th** **September 1793**

Elizabeth had almost given up hope that her husband would return before nightfall. Already, the sky was streaked with pink and purple, and the sun hovered hesitantly above the horizon. Curled up their sitting room with a cup of tea, she was roused from her introspections by the sound of a commotion downstairs. Hastily placing her cup and saucer to the side, she picked up her skirts and rushed to the top of the stairs, from where she could see the front door.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was shrugging off his greatcoat, his hair damp and curly from the drizzle, despite the hat he had just handed to the footman.

"Fitzwilliam!" she called as she rushed down the stairs, and was rewarded with a wide smile, the Colonel's eyes lighting up the moment he heard her voice.

"Elizabeth, darling," he greeted as he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, aware of the servants looking on.

"I had Cook prepare you posset when it started raining. Come, change out of those wet things, I shall call it up to our sitting room." [1]

The Colonel watched in admiration as his wife began instructing the servants around him. Hot water was sent for, the kitchens were notified of his arrival, a maid was ushered off to find a warming pan. In the weeks since their wedding, Elizabeth had taken life in her stride, growing into the accomplished lady of the house he always knew she could be. When she took his arm and led him up the stairs, he followed quite willingly.

oOoOoOo

Colonel Fitzwilliam had indulged in a hot bath, and was presently curled up on a long chair with his wife, enjoying his third cup of posset. Elizabeth was nestled into his side. He wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulders, as though he could not bear to let her go.

"From the reports I was hearing from the men stationed at Dover, I cannot help but feel that my services will be called upon sooner than we had hoped. On my ride back to you, I had been considering what arrangements we should make, but I wished to consult you first."

"I do not wish to think you leaving, but I understand that ultimately it will be inevitable." Elizabeth laughed softly, "If only I could have fallen in love with a man more inclined towards playing with swords on a training ground that leading men into battle." Though her sigh was amused, Fitzwilliam could hear the tears that she was choking back. "The price I must pay for an accomplished husband, I suppose."

"Indeed," the Colonel sighed, lovingly kissing her temple, "here is what I was thinking – do you recall my cousin Duncannon who attended our wedding?"

"Ah yes," Elizabeth replied, her words tinged with fond remembrance, "the Viscount."

"This year he purchased an estate near Chichester. With his sister at the family estate and his mother living in London, his home is lacking a female presence. I had thought, if it please you, that his company would not be unwelcome, if he offered you a place to stay. I know that you met him only briefly and do not know him well, but he is a good man and my playmate from childhood. I am sure if I asked him he would be happy to play host to you while I am on the Continent – perhaps you could invite one of your sisters to stay with you. Unless, of course," he continued, seeing Elizabeth's brows draw together, "if you would prefer to return home to Longbourn, that could just as easily be arranged.

Elizabeth's lips were pursed as she considered the options. The thought of returning to her childhood home was pleasing, through rose-tinted glasses. In reality, she imagined the transition back to daughter from wife would be jarring. With Colonel Fitzwilliam, she ran the household, planned the menus; she was not accountable to anyone other than her husband. If she stayed at Longbourn for the duration of Fitzwilliam's deployment, she would be stuffed back into little boxes labelled 'daughter' and 'girl'. Elizabeth decided she had settle too comfortably into the role of 'wife' and 'lady' to return there.

Her other option, then, was to stay with her new cousin. The prospect was daunting to say the least. She had only vague recollections of a man with thick, powdered hair and her husband's eyes; their introduction had been brief and the events of the day overwhelming. Since then, he had appeared in some of Fitzwilliam's stories – the well-behaved, staid companion who tried to keep Fitzwilliam grounded, but ended up drawn into the fray. The Colonel confided that his cousin was not nearly as boring as he liked people to assume, and with a little nudging, Duncannon could be even more playful than himself.

None of her options were perfect – regardless of where she went, Fitzwilliam would not be with her. She would just have to make the best of an unfortunate situation.

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 11** **th** **September 1793**

Colonel Fitzwilliam and his wife enjoyed their rides by the sea. Elizabeth was resplendent in her new riding habit – a dark green outfit which contrasted with Arion's white coat. Fitzwilliam was on his favourite mount, a Hunter with strong bones and a willing disposition.

Some days they would ride at a quiet walk, side by side on the water front, enjoying each other's company and the view. At other times, when Elizabeth was feeling adventurous and the beach was clear of people, they would race at a canter along the sands. In the few months that Elizabeth had been in the saddle, her confidence in her own ability and in the trustworthiness of her pony had grown significantly. Instead of clinging tightly to the reins and panicking every time Arion tossed his head, she enjoyed the freedom which riding granted her. As a grown woman, she was not allowed to run and jump and climb anymore – but she was allowed to press her horse faster until his hooves kicked up sand and the wind almost blew the bonnet from her head.

This morning, a group of children playing had prevented them from racing, so their pace had been slow, but the conversation quick. On the way back, Elizabeth was in a particularly playful mood, and was teasing her husband about his cravat. Jones, his batman, must have been looking at fashion plates, she told him, for she had never seen a soldier with such an elaborately crafted necktie. The exaggerated expression of outrage on his face turned to worry when they turned down their street, as he saw a messenger in military uniform rush up to their front door.

The couple dismounted quickly, leaving the horses to the grooms so they could hasten up the steps, just as the messenger was leaving.

"Orders have come from the Office of the War Minister, sir," the young man panted, "the details are all in the letter – you are needed immediately."

The Colonel's face was solemn as he took the letter from the Butler, to whom it had been handed, as the messenger left. His expression became even more grave the further down he read. Silently, he took Elizabeth's hand and led her through the house until he reached the book room, where he gestured for her to sit as he leant against the mantle.

"We have suffered a great loss at Hondschoote. The Siege of Dunkirk has been lifted, but by all accounts the combination of our forces and the Hanoverians have lost several thousand men – that number was still rising when this missive was sent – and the retreat of our men became necessary because of major strategic mistakes.

"The reports coming in suggest Marshal Freytag was largely responsible for this. His commands during battle weakened the Duke of York's position, and exposed his forces to the French. In short, I have been ordered to the continent. Immediately." [2] His tone was resigned. They had both known this day would soon come.

"I have enough time to escort you to Hensleigh, but I will not be able to stay while you settle in."

"That is as much as we could have hoped for, I suppose."

"Duncannon knows to expect you at some point; I will send an express ahead of us to notify him of our arrival. It will take tomorrow to pack up everything we need from this house and make the arrangements for the servants – we will leave the day after."

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 13** **th** **September 1793**

The first indication Elizabeth had that they were approaching Hensleigh Castle was a tall, whitewashed barn. Then a row of workers cottages. Then a farmhouse. Their carriage had wound through woods and around fields, bouncing and bumbling along the country roads until it pulled into the courtyard of her new home. The building was long and low – hardly a castle at all – but rising from behind it was a tall tower, with two small turrets at the sides and an ornate clock at the centre. Built with a dull red brick, the Tudor buildings had a tired, worn appearance, like a linen dress soaked too long in lye and scrubbed too hard on the washboard. [3]

From the arched entrance, Colonel Fitzwilliam's cousin appeared, just as the couple alighted the carriage. John Ponsonby, the Viscount Duncannon, was not unlike other members of the aristocracy – not handsome, but well-bred nonetheless. He had thick blond hair which was powdered an off-white, and the same dark brown eyes as Fitzwilliam. His nose was pronounced and somewhat hooked at the end; his chin was weak and barely present. The wide smile spread across his face was genuine, but the creases by his eyes leant an air of solemnity to his countenance.

"Richard! And the wonderful Mrs Fitzwilliam, it is a pleasure to have you here," he offered with a bow to Elizabeth before he drew the Colonel into a firm embrace.

"It is good to see you coz. I am sorry this is going to be brief, but I am to receive my orders in London as soon as possible, then I will be for the Continent."

"Do you have time for tea, at least?"

"Tea, or brandy, or perhaps a little of both." Duncannon led them into the house. Ordinarily he would have offered Mrs Fitzwilliam his arm, but the Colonel was not willing to let her go until he had to. The entrance hall, then the parlour, had much the same air as the outside of the building – worn and a little tired.

"When you said you had bought Hensleigh Castle, coz, I pictured… well, a castle."

"Ah, yes, the beautiful history in approximate translation," Duncannon sighed, a silly, besotted smile on his face. "Decades ago, during that blasted war with the French – I can't remember which one it was, the one just before we were born, or perhaps while we were in the nursery…" The Colonel and Elizabeth were led past a wide staircase covered with a once-resplendent dark green carpet which was faded where time and feet had worn the colour away.

"Anyway, we were at war with the French, and the owner at the time, Sir Horace something or other, had no use of this place – he never used it as a home – so he leased it to the government." The small group had arrived at a small parlour. The furniture was at least a decade out of date and the walls were decorated in a manner Elizabeth was sure had not been fashionable since she was a small child.

"This place was used a prison for the French prisoners of war. You see the tower?" he gestured out of the window. It was the clock tower they had seen on the way in to the manor. "That was where they kept the naval officers."

Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned to whisper into Elizabeth's ear, too quietly for his cousin to hear, "My cousin is a smarter man than his _interesting_ conversation style belies."

"So these French men wrote home, referring to this place as Chateau de Hensleigh, and the name stuck. Of course, the word Chateau does not really translate as castle, but we must forgive the little folk around here who did not know any better." His eyes lit up suddenly, "You must allow me to show you drawings, Mrs Fitzwilliam! The officers, during their incarceration, took advantage of the soft walls of the tower – they drew their ships, with full sails and all." Fitzwilliam laughed as he exchanged a look with his wife.

"I am sure Mrs Fitzwilliam would be delighted to see the drawings of some French seaman, given where her husband is heading."

"Oh, goodness, you must pardon me, Mrs Fitzwilliam," Duncannon apologised, "You too, cousin, I am sure you have no wish to hear of the French, you must be sick of the thought of them. I must beg your pardon."

"Do not trouble yourself about it, my Lord," Elizabeth demurred, "Your enthusiasm merely conveys you love for your home, which is everything charming."

"If you refer to my manner, Mrs Fitzwilliam, I could be persuaded to believe you, but if you talk of Hensleigh… I am well aware that only I see the charm in this place – everybody else just sees an old, neglected Elizabethan manor that should be left to fall to ruins."

"You are mistaken, my Lord, very much mistaken," Elizabeth replied. "I think you home has a lot of potential, it is just that nobody has cared for it in a while. I am sure that the presence of a full staff and a Master who cares, Hensleigh Castle will have a new lease of life."

"That is how Elizabeth can help you, is it not?"

"Absolutely. Your input shall be invaluable to say the least, Mrs Fitzwilliam. I have something of an interest in architecture but I have no eye for design and no interest in furniture. Are you willing to assist me in my task? Inevitably, my mother will wish to visit, and I would hate to bring shame upon her with my shabby curtains." Elizabeth laughed at his wide, beseeching eyes, and replied cheerily,

"I am sure you overestimate my ability in this area, my Lord, but I would be pleased to assist you."

They enjoyed the tea and cakes, indulging in light conversation and pastries. The atmosphere was comfortable – the Colonel and Viscount Duncannon had a gentle camaraderie which quickly spread to include Elizabeth. For a few minutes, she could pretend that her husband would not be leaving her shortly. The iron grip she had on his hand gave her away.

When the teapot was empty and plates clear but for crumbs, the Fitzwilliams could not ignore the necessary any longer. Viscount Duncannon tactfully slipped from the room, ostensibly to make sure the Colonel's horse was ready, but really to give the couple a final moment alone.

They stood facing each other, foreheads touching. Fitzwilliam leaned on Elizabeth. Elizabeth leaned on him back. Their hands were entwined; their eyes were closed.

"I love you so much, Lizzy," Colonel Fitzwilliam whispered. His feelings stuck in his throat and choked his words, they pricked and stung his eyes as he reached up to hold him wife's face in his hands. He brushed his lips across her brow, down her nose, along her jaw. He stroked her cheeks frantically as though memorising the shape of her softness and the taste of her smile. They drew each other closer, pressing together as though no distance could part them.

Eventually, they stepped away. Elizabeth held tightly to his arm as they made their way to the entrance hall.

"I am proud of you, though I shall miss you terribly – remember that I will be here, waiting for you. Come back to me, Richard."

"Always."

Elizabeth kissed her husband goodbye on the steps of the Manor, and she waved until as he rode out of sight. Then she walked with her host back into his home, she graciously admired the paintings he had hung, she enquired about the gardens she could spy through the window. She followed the housekeeper with quiet steps as she was led to her rooms.

She locked the room behind her, and collapsed into a tearful heap on the floor.

oOoOoOo

[1] Posset was a hot drink made from spiced milk curdled with wine or ale.

[2] The Battle of Hondschoote was fought between 6th and 8th September 1793 at Hondschoote, Nord, France, during operations surrounding the Siege of Dunkirk. It resulted in a French victory against the command of Marshal Heinrich Wilhelm von Freytag, part of the Anglo-Hanoverian corps of the Duke of York.

[3] Hensleigh Castle is loosely based on Sissinghurst Castle, near Cranbrook in Kent. The story of the French prisoners and the naming are true. The war Duncannon is referring to is the Seven Years War, a global conflict which took place between 1756 and 1763 (before Fitzwilliam and Duncannon were born).


	13. Chapter 13

A/N Lots of you asked the same question, so I decided to answer it here for everyone. Elizabeth is staying with an unmarried man primarily because Duncannon is an important character with whom she needs to build a relationship. There are plenty of reasons I can get away with it:

Firstly, remember when this is set – move out of Regency mindset, which is the precursor to Victorian ultra-conservativeness, and back to the 1790s when scandal was a lot less scandalous. In fact, this period is now coined the 'Age of Scandal', and the gradual rise of middle-class morality during this time would not really affect the Fitzwilliams and Ponsonbys. The family tree I am using for this story is real, and the characters existed in at least name – the Viscount Duncannon's parents (the Colonel's aunt and uncle) were 'scandalous' in real life. His mother was a gambling addict who had frequent affairs, and his father was considered a worse offender than his wife for the way he neglected her and insulted her in public. They even began divorce proceedings in 1790, though dropped them due to pressure from their families. In comparison, a married cousin-by-marriage staying with a single man is nothing.

Also, forward-thinking female writers during this period pushed boundaries in their literature as they did in real life, and I am going to pretend that is what I am doing too. If you are interested, check out 'The Family, Marriage, and Radicalism in the British Women's Novels of the 1790s' by Jennifer Golightly. Authors such as Inchbald and Wollstonecraft introduced the idea of marriage with a progressive man providing a woman with something close to equality, though this often fails in the books, as usually did in society. LWNPTG will be the exception to these failures – Elizabeth does achieve some measure of equality by marrying the Colonel. And if you look at the events of the story so far, it is no surprise that Fitzwilliam doesn't had a problem with it (his is ultimately the opinion that matters) – he married a gentlewoman who was volunteering a hospital, which was practically unheard of.

There are even more reasons I could use to justify this plot device, but this A/N is getting too long as it is. If the logic doesn't satisfy you, I hope you can suspend your disbelief long enough to enjoy the next section of this story. Thank you to everyone who left a comment, I love hearing from you x

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 20** **th** **September 1793**

The day after Colonel Fitzwilliam left, Elizabeth could barely get out of bed. She had hardly slept, tossing and turning for so long that by the time light began to creep in at the edges of the curtains, she was too exhausted to rise.

The day after that, she managed to make it down to breakfast, but the absence of her husband soon became too great a weight on her chest, and she retreated to her rooms for the rest of the day.

On the third day after he left, Elizabeth decided to get on with life. She rose and dressed early enough to take a walk through the walled gardens before breakfast. She ate with the Viscount Duncannon who, after a courteous greeting, was content to ignore her in favour of his newspaper and kippers. Once they had both finished eating, Elizabeth waited for Duncannon to rise before she stood and turned to leave.

"Mrs Fitzwilliam, a moment, if you would," the kind voice of Duncannon asked.

"Of course, my lord."

"I was not exaggerating when I said your assistance would be invaluable. Would you care to join me in my study – at your leisure – to answer some questions about the running of the household?"

"My lord, I am pleased to assist you in anything you wish, you have been kind enough to let me stay here, after all, but I believe you overestimate my competence in this area. I have no experience running a household of this size – in fact, the only house I have run was in Ramsgate, and that was only for a few months."

"But a few months is infinitely more experience that I have, which is none at all," he laughed. "Please, Mrs Fitzwilliam, your husband assured me you were most capable, and he is not a man to overestimate the abilities of others."

"I thank you for the compliment, my lord," Elizabeth curtsied, "I shall endeavour to be useful to you."

Viscount Duncannon led her though a wind of corridors to the west wing. Elizabeth had not yet ventured into this part of the manor, as her rooms were in the guest wing to the east, and the drawing room and dining room where they ate was to the south.

The room they entered was a sort of study or book room. The day had not yet pulled itself from the chill of the autumn morning, so the hearth remained unbanked, lending a comforting warmth to the room. The furniture was, at best, haphazardly arranged – the desk was in the centre of the room as though deposited without thought, the cabinets were mismatched and their surfaces were decorated eclectically. The chairs were well worn and a musty smell hung about the room, faint enough to be ignored but strong enough to wrinkle Elizabeth's nose as she walked through the door.

"Here, Mrs Fitzwilliam," the Viscount gestured to a chair in front of the desk before taking a seat opposite her, "I just have a few questions about staff numbers. You see, I know I do not have enough, because there are times when not everything in the household is done, but I do not know how many more I need."

"That should not be a difficult thing to calculate, my lord, if I can but ask your housekeeper a few questions about what is needed. In the meantime, perhaps it would be useful to ensure all of the maids are adequately trained. As Hensleigh did not keep a full staff for some time before your arrival, you may simply be lacking in properly instructed servants."

The housekeeper and butler were called in, and though consultation with them Elizabeth concluded that two housemaids, a scullery maid and a footman were needed to bolster the staff. She advised that more could always be found if the new additions, as well as extra training for the existing staff, did not sort out the problems.

Her knowledge surprised her. It seemed that watching Mrs Gardiner running her small household, as well as the lectures of Longbourn's housekeeper, Mrs Hill, had taught her more than she thought.

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 26** **th** **September 1793**

Breakfasts at Hensleigh Castle were extravagant beyond anything Elizabeth had encountered before. The footmen did not serve them unless specifically asked. Instead, Duncannon and Elizabeth would help themselves the spread on a sideboard which stretched the width of the drawing room. The magnificence of the breakfast offered was impressive at the least, awe inspiring to most. Tea in a tall silver urn, coffee in a pot of equal height. Dishes of scrambled eggs and sliced hams, hot bacon and kippers. Pound cake, plum cake, honey cake. Hot toast, cold toast, brioche, buns. At least three flavours of fruit preserve as well as butter and honey. Elizabeth thought it a wonder that her waistline had not massively expanded since her arrival.

When Viscount Duncannon entered, his hair was powdered and swept back from his face, his cheeks reddened from a ride or brisk walk. "I am in somewhat a pickle, Mrs Fitzwilliam."

"Good morning, my Lord," she dipped into a curtsy by the sideboard, her half-filled plate in hand. "Is there something I can do to help you out of your pickle?"

"That is just the thing, you can indeed," he declared, "The Bishop of Horsham and his wife are to dine here next week."

"That should be quite lovely, do you know them well?"

"I do not, and I shall not know them any better if you cannot help me." Quite distressed at the consternation on his face, she cried,

"I shall do anything I can, Lord Duncannon, tell me how I can help you."

"I have discovered, Mrs Fitzwilliam, that despite the number of dinners with company I have enjoyed, I gave no attention to the menu beyond the food I enjoyed. Is the white soup served before the pie, or at the same time?" Despite the dismay in his eyes Elizabeth could feel a grin spread across her face.

"Would you be comfortable if I, perhaps, plan the menu for the evening? My family did not host guests with such prestige as the Bishop of Horsham, but my mother was famous throughout Meryton for setting the best table – she would be pleased to think I learned something from her." The relief from Duncannon was tangible; his shoulders relaxed and his smile returned. "Have you been to the morning room?" Elizabeth nodded that she had. "I could send for Cook to speak with you there?"

It was arranged for Elizabeth to conduct her business out of the morning room. Once the menu was arranged, she stayed to complete her correspondence, and discovered she was quite fond of the little room. She returned to do her business there the next day, then the day after that. In consultation with the Lord of the manor, it became something of a study for Elizabeth, where she was able to read and write her letters, where she was able to assist in the running of the household when she was called upon to do so. It was rarely used by Duncannon yet favourably positioned so it was pleasingly light in both the beginning of the day and in the afternoon.

She became quite comfortable with having a reception room as her own. Additionally, the responsibilities she was starting to undertake were a welcome distraction from the constant ache she felt at the absence of her husband. She suspected that the Viscount knew this, so asked her to help with tasks that he or the senior servants would be quite capable of dealing with. She was grateful to him for this kindness.

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 9** **th** **October 1793**

Elizabeth had taken great pains to make the morning room her own; with the Viscount Duncannon's permission, she had scoured the manor for furniture. Each chair she had chosen, each ornament, was selected with great care – she ignored the worn and the mediocre until the room had an air of preciseness, a feeling that Elizabeth had laid her hand with certainty on that which pleased her best, and nothing less. There was some intermingling of style, some confusing of period, as she had taken pieces from different rooms that had been forgotten at different times. It had become a woman's room, with a gracefulness that had been absent from the decoration of her childhood, a soft fragility that was missing from her mother's style.

A gentle knock on the door alerted her to the presence of Mrs Sanders, the housekeeper of Hensleigh Castle. "Excuse me, Mrs Fitzwilliam," she curtsied, "Your sister's carriage has pulled into the courtyard."

Elizabeth leapt up from her seat at the desk and flew from the room, so that she was running down the steps just as Jane alighted the carriage. The elder woman was dressed in flatteringly cut travelling clothes, far too bright-eyed for someone who had spend two days in a carriage on uneven autumn roads – especially as she had spent the night in London with her young Gardiner cousins, the smallest of whom still cried through the night.

"Oh Jane, how I have missed you," she whispered feelingly as they embraced. Jane replied in kind, clutching to her little sister. The warm letters they had exchanged in the months since the wedding were no substitute of the presence of a beloved sibling.

"Come Jane, I must introduce you to the Viscount. You shall like him ever so much, he is very kind." Elizabeth led her guest into the entrance hall, where Duncannon was waiting.

"My Lord, this is my sister Miss Jane Bennet, whom you may remember from my wedding." Jane dropped into a deep curtsy while Duncannon bowed his head. "Jane, this is Lord John Ponsonby, the Viscount Duncannon."

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Bennet. I hope you enjoy your stay here; Mrs Fitzwilliam has been looking forward to your visit. If fact," he glanced at Elizabeth in amusement, "it is all she spoke of at dinner last night." Elizabeth just grinned impertinently in reply.

"I love my sister very much, my lord. If you will excuse us, we have much to catch up on."

"Of course," he nodded again to Jane, "Miss Bennet."

As Duncannon left, presumably to return to his study, Elizabeth looped her arm around Jane's to lead her to her rooms.

"I asked Mrs Sanders to give you the yellow room. It is not next to mine, as she had planned it to be, but it was a much more pleasing view of the gardens. I am sure you will love it.

"Now, you must tell me, how is Papa? He is quite terrible at answering my letters. And Aunt and Uncle Gardiner? My Aunt wrote some time ago, but she has been so busy with the little ones it has been too long since I have heard from her."

The sisters spend a considerable length of time discussing the family members Elizabeth had not seen since June but missed dearly. Mr Bennet was well, though a little more recluse than he used to be. He was struggling in company now that nobody appreciated his cutting humour. Mary was finally out after much convincing, and Kitty was begging to attend her first dance, though her father had, as yet, forbidden it. Mrs Bennet was no less afflicted by nerves than usual.

"She was ever so excited that you were staying with a Viscount; she was even more excited that I was to visit. It disappointed her terribly that our host does not much keep company – she snatched your letter right out of my hand when I told her that Lord Ponsonby is rather out of society of late." Jane explained, "She could not believe that you would ask me away at this time of the year if you were not planning to introduce me to many rich and titled men."

This made Elizabeth laugh at first – is sounded so much like her mother that she could hear the lady's voice in her mind – until she realised the implication. "Am I not to have you for long?"

Jane sighed as she shook her head. "I can stay at least until after Twelfth Night, but once Christmastide is over, Mama will want me back. [1] We have already had a few assemblies, and it had been going so well, she was quite reluctant to let me travel here. She will wish for me to be back at home, so I am available to be courted."

"It has been going well? Does that mean my darling sister has some suitors? A dashing dandy with a feather in his hat perhaps?" Jane shook her head wish a blush and a giggle. Elizabeth guessed again,

"A young clergyman looking to set and example for his flock? No. A sailor returned from years at sea, looking for a beautiful bride to making him forget all those hard men with salt-worn faces?" Jane laughed even louder.

"He is a soldier," she said, "visiting his relations, the Gouldings, while he has leave to. He is ever so handsome, and a jolly dancer. Mama was quite in love with him, she was heartbroken that he would leave before I returned to Meryton." While Jane was speaking, Elizabeth had grown solemn, and the joy in her eyes was replaced by sorrow.

"I will say this – I am sorry if you had to leave a young man you liked very much, I would not have asked you to come if I knew you were so happy, but I caution you not to fall in love with a soldier."

"No, no, Lizzy, I did not love him, in fact, he was quite boring when we were not dancing. Besides," she whispered conspiratorially, "he wrote me the most awful poem I had ever read. I could not love him after that!"

"I am glad to have saved you then, for nobody, especially not my sweet sister, should be made to read bad poetry for the rest of their lives." Elizabeth affected a jovial voice but the sadness had not left her countenance. Jane squeezed her hand sympathetically.

"Have you heard from him since he left?"

"He sent a letter from Dover just before he departed for France. That was over two weeks ago. He has not sent word since."

Elizabeth leaned into her sister as a wave of emotion hit her. In the netted reticule at her waist was that letter – she could not bear to part with it, so kept it on her person. She would take it out several times a day to read the parting line. It was what her husband had whispered to her on their wedding day, in front of the alter. It was the words he uttered every night before they went to sleep, and the first thing he said to her when she woke.

The letter was already crumpled at the edges, worn, fragile. The ink was still dark on the pale paper, though she suspected it would begin to fade soon. Tiny tears were starting to form along the lines of the folds, but Elizabeth could not bring herself to put the letter away in a draw or tie it up in a ribbon. She kept those words, his words, with her so that she could feel what she knew, what he had always told her.

' _I will love you, Lizzy, always. Always.'_

OOoOoOo

[1] The Georgian Christmas season started on the 6th December – St Nicolas Day – and ran right through until the 6th January - Twelfth Night.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N Thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed x

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 6** **th** **December 1793**

"I have your present here, Jane, you must open it," Elizabeth declared when Jane made it downstairs for the morning meal. "Then we shall put it to use immediately." [1] Lizzie handed her sister a bundle wrapped in pretty red fabric, and watched in anticipation as Jane untied the ribbon securing it.

"Oh Lizzy, they are wonderful," Jane cried as she stroked her new kid riding gloves, feeling the silky, soft leather.

"I worried for your hands when we have been riding – they always appear so red and sore when we return, your old gloves were not good enough. You must eat quickly! We shall take the horses for a jolly ramble this morning."

Jane was not as enthusiastic about riding as Elizabeth was, but the younger sister had found her husband's absence particularly difficult in the lead up to the festive season, and Jane was eager to see her eyes light up the way they did when she was on her horse. The riding habit she had brought with her from Longbourn had been put to good use in the last few weeks.

When Jane finally ventured out to the courtyard, dressed in a feathered cap and donning her new gloves against the cold, a groom was waiting for her, horse in hand. Elizabeth had already mounted her beloved Arion, as was walking his in loose circles to warm him up.

The day was crisp and clear. Frost sparkled on the grass, which crunched under the horses' hooves. The sun hung low and heavy in the sky, hovering over the distant treeline. They rode side by side, Jane on a bay mare from the manor's stables whose steady pace and sturdy footing she much appreciated. She admired Elizabeth from out of the corner of her eye. After her sister's accident as a child, she never would have imagined the scared, dark-haired girl she had known would have grown into a young lady as confident on four feet as on two.

Elizabeth's dark green habit stood out against the frosted grass and the trees glistening with ice. Her horse was ghostly in the hazy, winter sun, as relaxed with Lizzy on his back as she was comfortable there. Together, they presented a striking image.

"I saw that you were passed a letter yesterday which you did not share. Was it your husband?" Jane asked quietly as they strolled on horseback though the parkland.

"Yes, it was Fitzwilliam. It was dated a se'enight ago – he was not able to tell me where he is, just that he had returned from a mission for the Duke, and that he is safe."

"The Duke? The Duke of York?" Jane asked. Elizabeth nodded.

"Why can he not tell you where he has been?"

Elizabeth explained, "He does not share _any_ military matters. You see, Jane, that somewhere between where he is and the ship home, the letter may be intercepted by the French. It is unlikely to be of any use to them – if where he had been or where he is was of any importance, they would probably know already – but he said it was good practice to never even take the risk."

Elizabeth sighed. It should have been enough to know that he was safe, and reasonably well. Instead, she fretted that he would be sent to do some perilous work in a dangerous corner of France, and be unable to warn her. It was purely by chance that Jones was able to stumble on him in time, during the captivity which ended his last deployment to the Continent. The Colonel did not much talk about his work, but Elizabeth was intelligent enough to read between the lines – Fitzwilliam's rank was in no small part due to his father's title, but he had earned his epaulettes, and was highly prized by the War Office. His abilities were not limited to the sword and the musket, and Elizabeth knew his skills in covert work would be frequently put to use. She worried that in the wet and cold of winter, his leg might ache and pain him. She worried for his health, and for his happiness, so far from his family and his homeland. She worried.

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 24** **th** **December 1793**

Having assumed many of the responsibilities of Lady of the Manor, Elizabeth had spent many hours on household matters – setting menus, reviewing certain household accounts, discussing staff members with the housekeeper and butler. Given that many of these duties were serious, or at least tedious and uninteresting, she was taking great delight in the frivolous but important task she had been assigned.

"Now wrap the ribbon around… no, no, if you wrap it like this…"

Christmas decorations.

Elizabeth had ordered the collection of a multitude of evergreens from the estate, and was in the process of organising the decoration of the entrance hall. The banisters of the stairs were laden with greenery and adorned with apples and oranges. Some of the servants were in the process of winding a long red ribbon around the balusters, while others were hanging the kissing bough from the top of the staircase, so it hung at the centre of the room. It was more elaborate than the modest Christmas bough they had strung up at Longbourn, but the resources of Hensleigh Castle allowed for such extravagance. It was at least a foot and half across, made of evergreens wound through a wire frame and decorated with holly, ivy, rosemary and mistletoe.

The rest of the house had been decorated similarly. The vases were occupied with sprigs of holly; the scent of cloves and oranges perfumed the air.

"Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies," she sang to herself as she moved one of the oranges on the banister to another place. "Nature rise and worship him, who is born at Bethlehem." [2] She wandered into the next room, one of Hensleigh Castle's many parlours, stealing a mincemeat pie from a plate on the sideboard as she went.

"Christ by highest Heav'n adored, Christ the everlasting Lord…" She moved a vase of holly from the mantlepiece to a window sill, and hummed as she arranged the foliage, so the bright red berries were more visible.

Acting as Lady of the Manor had given Elizabeth more pleasure than she could have imagined. Her mother had always complained about the household business she tended to, which was not much – Mr Bennet had reduced his wife's control of the household accounts when Elizabeth was still a small child – but Mrs Bennet was not a learned woman and took no pleasure in exercise of the mind. Elizabeth, on the other hand, relished in it. Though it was challenging at times, and there had been instances when she had visited the Viscount in a panic over something she did not understand, the sense of achievement was almost as fulfilling as her time with the hospital.

She nodded to a maid who was arranging oranges decorated with cloves into a bowl. The girl dropped into a curtsy just as Jane stepped into the room.

"Oh Lizzy, is it not simply beautiful?" she exclaimed. "The fires are burning hot and bright, the air smells of pastries and spices – it is just magical!"

"It is," Elizabeth giggled at the joy on Jane's face, "quite magical." Outside the window, a layer of snow was blanketed over the grounds. It glistened and sparkled in the clear winter light, its cold beauty lending a festive feeling of peace to the Manor.

"Come, Jane," she said, linking her arm through her sister's. "If we follow the scent of those pastries, there might be a feast at the end."

oOoOoOo

Elizabeth was lost in though. Curled up on the window seat in the morning room, her mind was on her husband. This should have been their first Christmas season together. They should be talking about their families' Christmas traditions, and arguing over which they would follow, until they settled on a combination of the two which would be uniquely theirs. Perhaps the Fizwilliams waited until the evening to exchange sweets and trinkets, rather than in the morning, like the Bennets. Perhaps Richard enjoyed gorging himself on Christmas oranges. Mrs Bennet had never liked oranges, so they were only ever decoration at Longbourn.

"Mrs Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth was drawn from her reverie by the gentle voice of Viscount Duncannon. Flustered, she began to stand, but her visitor quickly stopped her.

"Please, do not rise on my account. I have something to pass on to you." He held in his hands a small box which was covered in a soft green fabric and tied with a red bow. "Richard was not able to order this himself, but he sent me a letter with detailed instructions before he crossed the channel, and it was made by one of the best jewellers in London." He passed her the gift, squeezing her hand gently in sympathy, then her left to open the present alone.

She unwrapped the ribbon carefully, carefully opening the box, aware the contents could be fragile. Nestled in a bed of dark green velvet was a locket. It made of polished gold, depicting a delicate leopards head at the centre, surrounded by a wreath of roses and lavender. She recognised the leopard as the same image which was repeated on the Fitzwilliam family crest. Roses and lavender had been special to them as husband and wife ever since the day they went gathering together.

She recognised Colonel Fitzwilliam's thoughtfulness in the design of the locket, though she was confused by the lack of a ribbon or chain. Then it occurred to her that the gold of the locket was the same shade as the necklace he gave her months before. Unfastening her the necklace around her neck, she gently slipped the amber cross of the chain and ran it though the top of the locket, so it was in the middle, with six diamonds on either side.

Gently pressing on the clasp, she opened the locket. The inside was less elaborate than the outside. In fact, there was no miniature, no drawing, not even a lock of hair. Engraved into the gold, right at the centre, was one word. The word that meant the world to Elizabeth. _Always_.

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 26** **th** **December**

Every corner of the kitchen was filled with baskets. The surfaces on one side of the room were covered with stacks of folded blankets, the other side with jars of fruit preserve. Elizabeth was wearing a luxurious, dark blue gown, with her sleeves rolled up and her hair haphazardly piled on top of her head underneath a lace mobcap. She was packing the baskets with supplies – each package contained a blanket, a couple of jars of jam, a small purse of pennies and a several lumps of coal wrapped in newspaper. A box of handcrafted wooden toys sat by the door, to be added to the baskets for the households with children.

The Viscount Duncannon was slouched against the door frame with his arms crossed and an indolent smile on his face.

"The servants are quite capable of packing these baskets themselves," he drawled with a raised eyebrow.

"And _I_ am quite capable of packing these baskets," she replied, "considering that they are from 'the family,' I believe that at least one of should be involved."

"No, no, Mrs Fitzwilliam," he pointed his finger at her with a grin, "I said 'perhaps we might give the tenants a little coin or a few jars of jam'. I am quite sure what I did not say was 'why, Mrs Fitzwilliam, please take over the kitchens to spend hours filling baskets with gifts for my tenants.'"

"Are you certain, my lord? I seem to recall those being the instructions exactly," she returned. He merely laughed as he pushed off from the doorframe, discarding his frock coat as he joined Elizabeth by a stack of blankets. Rolling up his sleeves he asked,

"What do you need me to do?"

Together, they were able to finish the baskets before midday. Over a meal of cold meats and fresh bread, Elizabeth elaborated upon her plans for their gifts to the tenants.

"My mother at Longbourn always gave the tenants a little something – a blanket, some salted meats or perhaps some toys for the children – but she did not have the means, or rather, she did not wish to direct the means, to give them more. Here, we, _you_ , have the means." She gestured with her fork to the obvious wealth in the room: the chandelier filled with beeswax candles, the great number of windows, the spread of food on the table. [3] "And I can swear by it, you shall reap the benefits come harvest."

"It is something of which my uncle, the Earl Fitzwilliam, has talked. My father was never the most successful landlord, so my uncle saw fit to impart some of his wisdom to me when I purchased Hensleigh."

"My father, also, was not as attentive to estate matters as he could have been, but he knew the worth in his tenants. They are the foundation on which the success of this estate is built, you must never forget that. By showing them just a little appreciation for their work the past year, you guarantee their work for next year as well."

"It is remarkable," Duncannon observed.

"What is remarkable, my lord?"

"You speak with such confidence, such conviction. You have not been married even a year yet you hold yourself with the poise and self-assurance of a woman many times your age." He raised his glass to her in toast. "You are as my cousin said – an incredible woman."

Elizabeth let herself smile for a moment. "I cannot disagree with you, my lord."

oOoOoOo

[1] St Nicholas Day was the first day of the Christmas season, and the day on which gifts were exchanged between friends and family.

[2] Hark! The Herald Angels Sing was written in 1739 by Charles Wesley – the lyrics Elizabeth is singing were adapted from the original in 1759 by George Whitefield. The tune we would recognise as this carol was not composed by Mendelssohn until 1840.

[3] Beeswax candles were prohibitively expensive, but were preferred by those who could afford them because the alternative was tallow candles – tallow was made from sheep or cow fat, and produced an unpleasant odour when burnt (due to the glycerine content). Because they were so expensive, beeswax candles became something of a demonstration of wealth.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N Big introductions ahead! I decided to mix up the format of this chapter, I hope it flows coherently.

Pardon the language, but I felt it was necessary to keep a certain someone in character (which is based on the real person).

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 15** **th** **April 1794**

Elizabeth was fussing. In the past hour, she had spoken to the cook once, the butler twice and the housekeeper more times than she could count. The flowers in the main parlour has been arranged and rearranged. The cushions had been plumped, the beds beaten, the curtains shaken and every surface dusted.

After observing the strained expression on Mrs Sander's face, Elizabeth eventually retired to the morning room. There was little more she could do except wait, thought her heart would surely beat out of her chest in the meantime. To keep her fingers occupied she picked up her embroidery, but she could not sit still. She paced across the room, but her mind would not quiet down. Finally, she made her way through the winding halls of the manor until she reached Viscount Duncannon's study. Knocking her knuckles gently against the door, she entered but saw that Duncannon was focused on a ledger in front of him.

"Oh, excuse me, my lord, I am interrupting you," she curtsied before she turned to leave.

"No, no, Mrs Fitzwilliam, it is not important," he waved her to take a seat, "how may I be of service to you."

"I have had some difficulty occupying myself this morning; I had thought if you were not otherwise engaged you might give me another Italian lesson. But I do not wish to take you away from your business, sir."

"I think that is a wonderful idea. I am sure I will go quite mad if I have to look over these accounts any longer. Please, take a seat. How far did we get last time?"

oOoOoOo

 _ **Wednesday 8**_ _ **th**_ _ **January 1794**_

 _Jane had departed Hensleigh Castle the previous day and Elizabeth was already feeling her absence. Nevertheless, Mrs Bennet had been adamant that Jane return to Longbourn – the absence of gentleman callers was unacceptable to her when there were eager young men waiting in Meryton for the blonde-haired beauty._

 _Now that her sister was no longer around to keep her company, the expenses of the Christmas season had been dealt with and the staff was running well with a steady number, there was little for Elizabeth to do in a household capacity. Not a woman who enjoyed leisure, she turned her thoughts to pursuits of the mind. She mentioned it to the Viscount at the dinner table that evening._

" _I play the old piano in the music room occasionally, but I have never had the inclination nor the perseverance to pursue it to a higher level. I have learned all of mathematics that will ever be useful to me, plus considerably more. I can speak and read a little French but have no desire to know any more – my husband's current location has given me a bitterness toward the language of that people. I do not know what else I could possibly study."_

 _The Viscount looked thoughtful as he chewed his food. "You have thought about a language, then?"_

" _Yes, I suppose. But I have no prior instruction in anything other than French, and it is rather difficult to grasp more than the very basics without a proficient instructor, even if one has a good primer."_

" _Have you considered Italian?"_

" _I suppose, but I do not have the funds to employ a teacher to come here."_

" _E se potessi istruirti?_

" _I don't...?"_

 _"And if I could instruct you?"_

 _"I did not realise that you speak Italian."_

 _"Indeed, I spent almost two years there when I graduated from Oxford. My uncle, the Earl Fitzwilliam, toured Europe as a young man and was quite in love with Italy by the time he returned to our shores – he encouraged me to spend as much time there as I could. It was a wonderful change from Christ Church College, and I am fluent in the language so I do believe I should be an adequate teacher."_

 _"In that case, my lord, I would be delight to accept your offer."_

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 15** **th** **April 1794**

The Viscount and Elizabeth spent the morning making conversation in rudimentary Italian, until the ringing of hooves could be heard from the courtyard. A large carriage rolled past the window, and the lord of the manor offered his hand to his companion to assist her in rising before they made their way to the entrance hall. The footmen fully opened the large door, giving Elizabeth a clear view of the new guests.

The couple emerging from the carriage were splendiferous in their affected modesty. In keeping with the increasing manner of simple clothes, they wore garments with a more unassuming silhouette than the clothes of their youth. The gentleman had an impressive nose which might have been called aquiline if the tip was not quite so hooked. As many men of his station and age, the gentlemen had not yet discarded his powdered wig to the whims of fashion past, and grey-blue of his headpiece brought out the colours in the most striking green eyes Elizabeth had ever seen.

The lady had fine blonde hair which hung in ringlets around her face, framing her small, perfectly straight nose and dark brown eyes – the same eyes that Elizabeth had gazed into as she said her wedding vows. The great lady's expression was pinched as she rearranged the skirts which emphasised her tiny waist and fashionable curves. She withdrew a bold, red and white fan from her reticule and snapped it open with a practised wrist, fanning herself dramatically several times before she folded it away again.

"Aunt and Uncle, it is wonderful to see you," Viscount Duncannon called as her made his way down the steps to greet his guests.

"And you too, my boy," replied the gentleman as he embraced Duncannon. The lady extended her hand for the younger man to kiss.

"Aunt, Uncle, this is Mrs Fitzwilliam," he introduced. Elizabeth dropped into a deep curtsy.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord, my lady." The elder gentlemen smiled benevolently at her. The blonde lady sniffed.

As the group made its way inside, the woman turned to Elizabeth and remarked,

"I understand you met Duncannon's father recently."

"Yes, my lady, the Earl was kind enough to visit a few months ago. Unfortunately, he was not able to stay long; I know the Viscount was disappointed his father had to depart so suddenly."

"These situations with Henrietta cannot be helped, I suppose," the gentleman commented from the other side of his wife. "Though I do wish your brother did not react quite so… energetically." The blond woman simply sighed.

oOoOoOo

 _ **Friday 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **February 1794**_

 _Hensleigh Castle had been hosting a visitor for the past eight days. Duncannon's father, The Right Honourable Frederick Ponsonby, the Earl of Bessborough, had arrived at the manor in a plain carriage with an expensive appearance. Since then, Elizabeth had found him to be excellent company – he was mild mannered and amiable, a softly-spoken conversation partner. She could happily spend hours talking to the clever man who was both a Master of Arts and a Doctor of Civil Law._

 _The household had very quickly fallen into a rhythm which allowed the residents of the manor to spend the morning meal together, before they separated to complete their necessary tasks. Afternoons would be spent enjoying bracing walks through the walled gardens; the evenings were reserved for the discussion of literature or culture beside a roaring fire. Elizabeth was pleased to have made her acquaintance with Lord Ponsonby , she was certain she would find his stay most intellectually stimulating._

 _The peaceful balance which had been established was broken that morning when a letter marked 'urgent' was delivered to the Earl during the morning meal. After his son waved his assent, the Earl opened it and immediately exclaimed a stream of creative expletives._

" _Henrietta, you bitch," he shouted, before he turner to Duncannon. "Do you know what your deuced mother has done this time. Look, read this!" he flapped the letter in his son's face._

" _Father, please," the Viscount sighed as he took the letter and skimmed the contents, "not in front of Mrs Fitzwilliam."_

 _Duncannon discarded the letter to the side and helped a shocked Elizabeth to stand. Escorting her from the room, he explained,_

" _My mother and father have a difficult relationship, Mrs Fitzwilliam, but I am sorry you had to see that. Unfortunately, some of her recent activities can make him quite angry. Here, rest for a moment in here while I calm him down."_

 _He left her on the window seat in the morning room, returning half an hour later to inform her that the Earl of Bessborough would be leaving for London that afternoon and ask that she coordinate with the household staff to ensure his departure ran seamlessly. [1]_

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 15** **th** **April 1794**

The evening meal fluctuated between pleasant conversation and interrogation. Despite her youthful boldness, Elizabeth was somewhat cowed by the guests. The Earl and Countess Fitzwilliam were her husband's parents and she was determined to leave a good impression; it was difficult to be an amiable and bright conversationalist when Lady Charlotte's face still had not softened.

The Viscount Duncannon was, in his usual gentle way, try to smooth over the tension in the room.

"Uncle, Mrs Fitzwilliam is quite a lover of horses. Why don't you tell her about your stables?"

"Ah yes, Richard had my head groom searching all over the county for a horse for you. I believe he settled on Connemara gelding, did he not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And the beast is suiting you well?"

"Yes, my lord, he is very gentle with me, I enjoy riding him very much."

"Jolly good, jolly good. There is no place quite like that on the back of a fine piece of horseflesh. I put together a hunting party every Autumn, even the ladies join us for the less strenuous rides – if Richard has returned by then, you should join us. I am sure you would enjoy the rush of a gallop with the hounds."

"If my husband has returned, I am sure we would be most pleased to join you."

Lady Charlotte interrupted to ask,

"Did your father keep a hunting stable?" Elizabeth shook her head.

"No, my lady. We had the farm horse, my father's hunter and the old mare which we shared between my sisters, but we had no use for a large stable." The Countess sniffed derisively. Elizabeth sighed into her wine.

The evening continued in much the same vein. The Viscount would encourage some pleasant conversation as Elizabeth attempted to draw her husband's parents into engaging with her. The Earl could be induced to participate if he was especially fond of the topic – primarily horses, hounds and hunting – while the Countess could not be imposed upon to share a smile.

Elizabeth had been certain that the subject of her husband could only be dear to them, but the Earl and Countess were less than enthusiastic to discuss him. Though Elizabeth pleaded for some childhood tale of youthful folly, the Earl would offer nothing more than a tight smile. The Countess made a point, whenever Elizabeth had the temerity to mention Richard, to change to topic to her first son Charles Wentworth-Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Milton.

She could not be certain if the older woman did it because talking of her youngest son was too painful, owing to his current location, or if she merely wished to spite her daughter-in-law by thwarting her attempts at meaningful connection at every turn. Elizabeth had no doubt however, that the Viscount Milton was Lady Charlotte's favourite child. According to his mother, Milton was an unparalleled horseman, a doting son, an accomplished musician and an excellent scholar. He was currently courting an eligible, handsome young woman – the daughter of a Baron and a cousin through his father's side, Lady Charlotte was sure to point out many times.

"I do love sweet Mary. She is every so beautiful, and so gentle!" the Countess had exclaimed. "I simply cannot wait for them to be married. I should not speak of them so – they are not yet engaged – but it is inevitable, to be sure. They are simply made for one another. There has never been a pair more perfectly matched, in appearance, in temperament," Lady Charlotte paused with a hard glint in her eyes, "in station."

oOoOoOo

 _ **Saturday 8**_ _ **th**_ _ **March 1794**_

 _My Darling Elizabeth,_

 _Though I wish it did not have to be so, this shall not be a long letter. I am sorry that it has been so long since I have put my pen to paper; though you cannot be in my words, you are often in my thoughts._

 _The weather is quite terrible here, I am sure I am sick of the snow! I can scarcely recall my childhood delight at such a scene as a village blanketed in the white. The snow here is white as it falls, but it does not remain so once it has touched the ground. I am surrounded by slush in all shades of yellow and brown which freezes my toes through my boots and makes my stockings quite sodden. How I miss the snow of England._

 _I should not complain so, I would sorely hate to worry you. In fact, I am sure I barely notice the cold anymore. My leg does not much pain me – in no small part because of the woman who nurses me, I am certain – though several days hard riding can cause it to ache somewhat._

 _I do not know if you have recently addressed any correspondence to me. At present, I am only able to receive news directly couriered through the War Office. If you have, I am sorely disappointed to have not had the pleasure of reading it. If you have not, I am simply glad that you have found something so enjoyable to occupy your time that your attention had been suitably engaged elsewhere._

 _The war progresses as it must. I hope my cousin shares the news with you, for I cannot regale any of my recent adventures to you. That shall have to wait until I am home._

 _I cannot tell you when that shall be. It is my honour and duty to serve our country but there are moments when I lie awake and all I can see is your face and feel your touch and you are next to me, until I blink, and you are gone. Then I must tighten my belt and straighten my back, because in my position, I cannot submit to the whims and follies of love. But someday soon I shall return to you, never doubt that._

 _In my dreams, I make my promises to you again and again. I vow to love you, and I kiss your lips and hold you close. At times, you do not feel so far away. Yet when I awake, I feel your absence keenly, and yearn to once more feel you in my arms._

 _I love you, Elizabeth. Always._

 _Your husband_

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 3** **rd** **July 1794**

Mrs Fitzwilliam had been relieved to see her mother- and father-in-law leave Hensliegh Castle. Their presence had been a constant burden, a perpetual drain which slowly but surely withdrew her confidence and vivacity. Beneath the Countess' hard stares and derisive sniffs, Elizabeth had grown quieter and smaller.

Duncannon had been shocked and worried to see his friend wilt like an exotic flower, smothered by the cold and stifled by the damp. He had pleaded with his uncle to be gentler with her, and implored him to ask the same of his wife. Though the Earl was sympathetic, and growing a little fond of his son's clever and pretty wife, he would not ask the Countess to be more kind.

"What does Mrs Fitzwilliam expect to face when she finally shows herself in London? A country lass, bonny to be sure, but unrefined – your Aunt's attitude is as understanding as any she shall encounter. The girl might as well get used to it. What more she expected when marrying Richard, I do not know, but I cannot tell Charlotte to be anything other than she is – reasonable."

Duncannon had continued to beseech his uncle to rein in his wife, but the Earl refused to do so. He did, however, soften his own attitude somewhat. This was not as a result of Duncannon's pleas so much as the result of further observation of Elizabeth. Though she was young and unpolished, he found that she was clever and kind. Nevertheless, he still disapproved of the manner of her marriage, and did not curb is wife's disapprobation.

Once the Earl and Countess had left in their fine carriage, Duncannon was relieved to see Elizabeth return to her previous spirits. She began to enjoy life again, she was no longer on edge, bracing for the next criticism. Hensleigh Castle was once again filled with her cheerful chatter.

As the Viscount and Elizabeth sat down to an afternoon tea, they were interrupted by the butler, who bowed and solemnly informed them that a rider was seen approaching.

"Are you expecting a visitor?" Elizabeth asked Duncannon. He shook his head and replied,

"Perhaps one of our neighbours is in distress, or it may simply be an invitation to a dance or summer fete? We shall have to wait and see."

When the thunder of a horse running hard could be heard, Elizabeth rose to the window. The horse was unfamiliar, but figure dismounting was unmistakeable. She had dreamed of running her fingers through the curly brown hair currently escaping from under his hat. Crying out, she rushed through the manor to the entrance hall; there was a commotion from the other side of the door.

"I don't need an introduction, damnit, just let me in!" the man shouted.

"Sir, I cannot let you-" the footman protested. The door swung open and a man strode purposefully through, freezing momentarily as Elizabeth caught his eye, before he engulfed her in a firm embrace.

"Richard!" she cried.

oOoOoOo

[1] I have based Frederick Ponsonby on the limited number of sources I have found about him in real life. He was said to be quiet and mild with a "most amiable manner", but he was also a notoriously bad husband who neglected his wife and frequently insulted her in public. Henrietta was not a model wife either – in fact they did try to get a divorce a few years before this story is set, but dropped the suit after pressure from their families. I have left it up to the reader to guess what exactly she did, but she was a gambling addict and had multiple affairs with other men, so you've got plenty to choose from!


	16. Chapter 16

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 3** **rd** **July 1794**

If pressed, Elizabeth could not have articulated everything she was feeling. Her emotions were all strong and tumultuous, churning and pounding through her as her husband cupped her face and kissed her brow repeated.

"Oh Elizabeth, my darling Lizzy. I have missed you so much," he murmured between kisses, "I love you, I have missed you so much." His eyes ran over every inch of her, as though he sought to reassure himself that she was truly there in front of him.

"I have missed you too," she cried, "I love you, I love you."

Elizabeth could scarcely believe her eyes. The man she loved was once again in her arms, as she had dreamt for months. His hair was the same dusty brown, though the curls were thinner than she remembered. His face had some of the paleness she remembered from his time in the hospital, but there was none of the gauntness which had accompanied it. His eyes were dark and beautiful, though a harness lingered in their depths which was not there before he left. She loved him so much – more than a voice could express, more than words could tell.

A cough from the doorway interrupted their fervent examinations of each other.

"It is good to see you, cousin, I am pleased you have returned to us in one piece this time."

Colonel Fitzwilliam reached out to wrap his arms around Duncannon in a brotherly hug, then he quickly placed his hand back in Elizabeth's. The Viscount, not unaware of Richards desire to share a moment alone with his wife, suggested they take a walk about the walled garden while he called for some celebratory drinks.

"Come, I shall show you the way," Elizabeth declared as she wrapped her arm through his, holding her body close to his. "Jane helped me to plan it while she was here – the gardeners had to completely dig it over and replant, it was such a mess, I'm afraid your cousin does not much have an eye for horticulture."

They wondered through the garden together, arm in arm, then hand in hand.

"I am pleased Jane was able to stay with you. Was she here for long?"

"A few months. She left just after the Christmas season. My mother simply could not be without her any longer, I am afraid, but we had a wonderful time together while she was here."

"But you have not been lonely since, I hope."

"Oh no, your cousin has been a wonderful companion, and I have had my books and Arion to keep me company, besides."

"I am glad. I was worried that we had not made the right decision by not sending you back to Longbourn."

"I'm sure it would have been lovely to see all of my family again, but I do not think I could have dealt with my mother's nerves while anxious for you myself. And I was able to make an acquaintance with some of my new family. Lord Ponsonby was here for a short while, though he had to leave unfortunately abruptly."

"Oh God, what has Henrietta done now?" the Colonel asked.

"I do not know the particulars, only that the Earl was much distressed by it and felt he had to leave immediately." Fitzwilliam harrumphed. "And then your parents were so kind as to visit not so long ago, in fact. "

"I did not realise my parents had come to stay. How are they? I have not heard from them since last year."

"They are well. Your father is very much looking forward to the hunting season. You mother is, well, she is excited about your brother's courtship with your cousin Mary."

"Old Charlie boy has decided he wants Mary, then? I can't say I saw it coming, but I am not surprised it makes my mother happy."

"You father also extended an offer to attend his hunt in a few weeks, although I do not know if you would wish to go."

"If we are both in the mood for it at the time, I do not know why we should not partake in a little hunting, but let us not settle on an answer just now. Tell me, darling, what trivial little things might you have to tell me. That is what I missed most – the little things you used to tell at the end of the day: how you found a pretty shell on the beach or you read an entertaining passage in a novel. Tell me Elizabeth," he took her hand earnestly, "it has been so long since we have spoken so, I wish for you to regale me with all the trivialities possible."

"Well," Elizabeth started, "I have been learning Italian."

"And so you immediately misunderstand me," the Colonel declared, "that is hardly insignificant at all. Bravo! Well done! Do you speak it well, yet?"

"I would not say I speak it _well,_ but I do not speak it ill. You cousin, the Viscount, has been an excellent tutor."

"I know you do not wish to extoll your own virtues, so I shall declare that you speak the language most beautifully. In fact," his voice dropped as he glanced about surreptitiously, as if to ascertain no servant was lurking in the rosebushes to overhear, "I shall ask you to give me a demonstration of your recently-acquired skills this evening. You can whisper to me in your new, exotic tongue as we…" he gently kissed behind her ear, then below her jaw. Elizabeth's heart fluttered, but she quickly recollected herself and pushed him away, laughing.

"It would not do for you to seduce me in the walled garden, you scoundrel," she scolded. "Come, your cousin will surely wish to speak with you. It has been many months since you last met."

"I couldn't give a deuce about John, but I shall do as any hen-pecked husband and follow my wife's commands." He feigned a thoroughly miserable, oppressed expression for a moment, until he could not hold it any longer. "Luckily for me, she is far too beautiful for me to mind."

oOoOoOo

The evening had been a joyous affair. Elizabeth had asked Cook to make as many of the Colonel's favourites as she could from the contents of the storeroom and pantry. An army of maids equipped with baskets and scissors were sent to gather gooseberries, strawberries, blackcurrants and rhubarb to make a variety of sweet deserts. Elizabeth partook in some watered wine while the gentlemen enjoyed spirits of their choice.

Though Colonel Fitzwilliam had been assigned a room of his own, just down the hall from Elizabeth, he used it only to change into his nightclothes and banyan before he joined his wife in her chambers. She was curled up in her window seat waiting for him, her hair not yet plaited and tumbling in a waterfall of riotous curls down her back.

She rose wordlessly as entered, allowing the Colonel to rest his hands on her waist and his forehead against hers. They stood together like that for several minutes in silence, feeling each other breathe, remembering their connection. After a gentle kiss, Elizabeth took her husband's hand and led him to her dresser. As she moved to take a seat, her elbow caught the hairbrush on the vanity table, which fell to the floor with a heavy thump. The Colonel jumped.

"Are you alright?" Elizabeth asked in concern as she turned to face him. The colour had disappeared from his face and she grasped his wrist, worried that he might fall. Under her fingers, his pulse raced, and his eyes held a wild, unsettling look Elizabeth had never seen before. It took him a moment to respond, but when he did speak, the Colonel's voice was steady.

"I am fine, darling, it just caught me by surprise, is all." He picked up the fallen hairbrush as gestured for Elizabeth to turn back around. This was a ritual which had developed during their trip to Ramsgate: they would change into their night clothes, then Richard would take down and brush Elizabeth's hair before she plaited it.

The Colonel's hand was steady as he ran the brush through her curls, so she dismissed his earlier state as a result of being caught unawares, and turned her thoughts to the sensation of her husband's attentions. It had been far too long since they had touched, she thought, and she knew he agreed, because he placed the brush down at that moment. She felt his hands ghost over her shoulders and her waist before they rose again to run through her locks. He had always had a preoccupation with her hair.

Holding hands, they were making their way across the room to Elizabeth's bed when the Colonel paused.

"I need to lock the door," he said abruptly.

"Do not worry about it, darling," Elizabeth replied, "we shall not be interrupted, my maid knows not to disturb me once I have retired."

"No, I need to lock the door." Though she thought his sudden change in manner quite bizarre, she had no issue with the door, whether it was locked or not. She let go of his hand and directed him towards a small set of draws on her sideboard, where she was sure she had last put the key.

Once the door was locked, Colonel Fitzwilliam's previous ease returned. He gathered Elizabeth into his arms, whispering sweet word of love into her ear as he kissed and caressed her. She basked in the adoration which she had ached for in his absence; she was sure to return his love in equal measure.

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 4** **th** **July 1794**

By the time Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the Viscount's study it was late afternoon. They had arranged over the morning meal to sit down for a proper conversation, but first Duncannon was called away to deal with a situation between several of his tenants, and when he had returned to the manor house Elizabeth and Richard were on a ride though the estate.

Viscount Duncannon was behind his large desk, a pen in hand as he wrote a letter or form of some sort. Though he did not lift his head as the Colonel rapped on the door then strode straight in, a smile settled comfortably on his face.

"Do you have some time for me, cousin, or shall I just watch you as you write?" Duncannon shook his head as he finished the sentence he was writing, then finally looked up.

"What can I do for you Richard?"

"Firstly, a glass of whatever you're having," nodding to the decanter of port on the desk, "then a sentimental word or two." The port was duly poured, and the gentlemen moved to the set of chairs by the window. Colonel Fitzwilliam began,

"I cannot thank you enough for looking after my wife so well as you have, John. I do not think I could have asked a better man to look after her in my absence."

"The pleasure has truly been all mine. Mrs Fitzwilliam is a lovely lady to have as a companion, and an excellent mind. I do not know how I shall manage with the household once she leaves with you – I did not realise what a terrible job I was doing until she swept in and did it so much better."

"I believe that is a phrase that would accurately sum up my life," Fitzwilliam laughed, "I did not know what a terrible job I was doing until she showed me how to do it so much better. I certainly did not know what loneliness was until she arrived in my life and showed me what wasn't."

"I can only hope to find a woman like her," Duncannon mused.

"You shall have to do it soon, or you house will fall into disrepair and chaos, by the sound of it," the Colonel chortled as he slapped his knee.

"I see you returned to our shores with even less wit than you left with."

"Do no pout old man, you are just jealous that I will go to London and present to them my beautiful, wonderful bride while you stay at your mouldy estate, alone."

"I will not deny that your wife is beautiful, I will firmly refute all claims that my house is in any way mouldy, crumbling or shabby. You never know, I might decide to brave the Ton this year. It really is about time I found myself a wife – yours has shown me _that_ well enough."

"Good luck finding yourself one of the same calibre as mine!"

During a pause in conversation, Colonel Fitzwilliam examined his cousin's study while the Viscount tried to find the words for what he wished to say. Eventually, Duncannon leaned forward and said,

"I am sorry I was not able to better shield Mrs Fitzwilliam from you parents. I tried to stop your father, but he refused to stop you mother, and, well-"

"What do you mean 'stop my parents'?" the Colonel asked in confusion.

"You are parents, when they stayed here, with your wife… you did not know?" Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head and asked the other man to elaborate.

"When your parents came to visit, they were… not particularly welcoming to Mrs Fitzwilliam. My Uncle was cordial, at least, and though there were moments when his disapproval became evident, by the time he left I believe he did not disapprove of her quite so much." The Viscount's expression was as apologetic as his tone; the Colonel was becoming visibly agitated by the other gentleman's words, though he let Duncannon continue.

"My Aunt, on the other, was openly derisive – she was rude, snide, just generally unpleasant. I asked the Earl to regulate her behaviour, but he felt she was justified. There was little else I could do but comfort Mrs Fitzwilliam, though it did not seem to help – she withdrew into herself, and only emerged once your parents were gone.

"It worries me that you will be going to London, where my Aunt and Uncle – and the other members of the Ton – may have that effect on her again. I hope you will protect her better than I could."

oOoOoOo

The Colonel and his wife were lying side by side under the covers of Elizabeth's bed. Still relishing his renewed proximity to the love of his life, Richard would not move more than half an arm's length away from her, and he kept, at all times, a hand on her hip or an arm about her waist, if he was not cradling her to his chest.

Elizabeth was floating in a cloud of satiated lassitude as she felt Richard breathing next to her. It was a unique pleasure, after so long apart, to simply feel the other exist. She was especially frustrated when her insensitive husband decided to ruin the mood.

"Why did you not tell me that my parents had been unpleasant to you?"

She sighed in irritation, replying,

"Not know, Richard. Can we not talk about it in the morning?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam's silence seemed to suggest his assent, so Elizabeth closed her eyes and returned to enjoying her comfortable bed and warm companion. A few minutes later, he spoke again.

"Duncannon said you had been very affected by them. I do not understand why you did not tell they had been so disagreeable."

Elizabeth rolled over so that she could face him, her eyes soft with somnolence. "I have only just got you back; I did not wish to upset you. May we now go to sleep?"

"Yes, fine, I am sorry to have disturbed you." There was a long pause before he declared, "No, actually, I would like to talk now."

Elizabeth sighed again, this time in resignation. Reaching for her dressing gown, she climbed from the be to light a candle from the crumbling embers of the fire in the grate. She returned to the bed, placing the candle on the bedside table as she went, and she sat up against the pillows with her feet tucked under the coverlet. In the meantime, the Colonel had turned so that he could sit facing her.

"Lizzy, I feel that your relationship with my parents is significant enough for you to have told me – if not immediately after I arrived then at least this morning. Why did I have to hear about your conflict from my cousin instead of my wife?"

"Because they are your parents!" she cried. "You have just returned from _war_ , and you think my first topic of conversation should have been 'your parents despise me'?"

"Perhaps not the first, but it should have been discussed by now."

"You don't understand, Richard," tears began to gather in the corners of Elizabeth's eyes, "your parents _despise_ me. I could hardly talk of it when I can scarcely bare to think of it."

"But we discussed this before we were married; you always knew it was likely my parents would not approve of us. Besides, Duncannon seemed to think that my father viewed you quite favourably by the end."

"I was alone. You left me alone!"

"I had no other choice. Do you really think I wanted to go back to that hell?"

At some point, their voices had grown louder as their conversation morphed into an argument, and their arm waved in frantic gesticulations.

"I thought I would have you to defend me, to fight for me!"

"I was fighting for you, I was fighting for the whole country!"

"And I love you for it, and I honour you for it, but I was still alone. I had to defend myself from _your_ parents, because you were not here to do it for me. Do you know how lonely that made me feel, how alone? I have stayed here like a good little wife - I have wept for you and embroidered your initials on too many handkerchiefs than I could count, I have loved you and missed you – then your mother arrives and turns her nose up at me and hates me-" Elizabeth dissolved into violent sobs, so overcome was she by the emotions of the previous few days. Fitzwilliam quickly gathered her into his arms, cupping the back of her head and holding her against his chest.

"Shh love, shh, I am here now, I am here," he murmured over and over, pressing kiss after kiss to her temple and cheeks.

"I did not want this to happen," she cried through tearful gasps, "these are my feelings to bear. I did not tell you because I wished you to be happy!"

"I am happy, darling, I am finally here with you, how could I be anything but than happy?" The Colonel pulled her onto his lap so he could cradle her closer. "I love you, I am happy, I love you."

Once Elizabeth had calmed somewhat, she pushed away from his chest and dabbed his tearstained front with her sleeve. "I am sorry, I do not mean to be so missish. I told you to wait until the morning, I am sure I would not be so upset if I was not so tired." Fitzwilliam just chuckled softly, and kissed her. He told her,

"My parents should not have treated you that way, especially since you were so vulnerable."

"They should not, I agree… but that does not mean they were necessarily wrong."

"Lizzy, I love you more than anyone else in this world, but if you say something so senseless again, I might have to box your ears."

"I am not saying that their treatment was correct, just that, well, they are hardly going to be the only people who feel that way about me. You would have made an excellent match for an heiress who already had the money and simply needed the connections."

"I am glad, for my sake, that you stole me away before they could sink their claws into me," he declared. They rearranged themselves in the bed so they were lying side by side again, with Elizabeth resting her head on his shoulder and Fitzwilliam twirling her hair around his fingers.

"Was it truly so terrible out there?"

"No, it was not terrible – it would have been worse to abandon my duty to my men and to my country – but it was not easy. I would much rather have been home with you."

"How long will I have you?"

"I don't know, Lizzy, I don't know.

oOoOoOo


	17. Chapter 17

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 4** **th** **August**

After a joyful month back on English soil with his wife and cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam decided that it was time to look for residences in London. He kissed Elizabeth goodbye and rode for Town. That was a decision he was now regretting.

The inn where he was lodging was less than satisfactory. From the threadbare and ill-stuffed chair by the paltry fire, the Colonel could still see on the mattress an imprint of the last person who slept there showing that she sheets had not been changed and the mattress had certainly not been beaten. The sound of raucous laughter and conversation echoed from the common rooms, and Fitzwilliam was certain he could hear suspiciously rodent-like scratching from the rafters.

He should have sent an agent in his place.

The first day of searching was somewhat fruitful, that is to say, he now knew with some certainty exactly what he was not looking for. He did not want any damp, of that he was sure. Preferably more furniture than a bed and a table with only one chair. A park nearby would be pleasant, but it was not a necessity. The absence of black mould was a must.

He was also a new experience to be taking his wife into consideration. He had to decide whether there would be enough room for Elizabeth to host visitors if she wished. He was willing to walk a distance to where his horse was kept, but he suspected Elizabeth would prefer her pony to be stabled closer than that.

In addition to the decisions he had to make regarding their housing, the burden of the impending conversation with his parents was weighing on him. A confrontation was practically inevitable, though the Colonel was resolved not to resort to hostility for as long as he could. The anger he felt toward the Earl and Countess had simmered, just below boiling, for several weeks. After the revelation of their treatment of Elizabeth had come light, he had written a harsh and aggressive missive to his father, but his wife had reasoned him out of sending it. Instead, he had spent the moth rehearsing all of the things he wished to say, and all the different ways he could say them. When he had admitted this to Lizzy, she had laughed at him and told him that his elaborate speeches would surely escape him the moment he was opposite his parents. Richard had sniffed in indignation, but admitted that his wife was an intelligent lady and resigned himself to her teasing.

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 5** **th** **August** **1794**

The Colonel was dressed for the occasion. In full military regalia, he cut a dramatic figure as his horse high-stepped across Grosvenor Square. The hazy summer drizzle curled the mousy hair under his hat, but after a harsh, wet spring on the Continent, he hardly noticed such light rain. The groom took the reins from him silently; the footman was solemn as he opened the door. Discarding his crop and gloves onto a sideboard, he enquired,

"Where might I find my father this morning?" He was summarily directed to the master's sitting room, where Fitzwilliam found the Earl frowning over the newspaper.

"Father, a word, if you would." Lord Fitzwilliam sprang from his chair with the energy of a man half his age, not taking note of his son's abrupt tone.

"My boy, my boy!" The elation in the elder man's voice was evident, as he rejoiced, "You are home to our shores, finally. Come, come, you must see your mother – she has worried for you terribly, as have I."

"I would rather stay here and talk to you for a moment."

"Of course, yes, take a seat. Shall I call for some tea? No, we shall have port. No! We shall break open the fine claret I have been saving for such an occasion as this." The Earl rushed to ring for the butler to bring the claret, then he waved the Colonel into a seat.

"It is good to see you, my boy. We received your message that you were back, but I am glad you have come to visit." He settled into his own seat as the butler served them the wine. The Colonel took a deep swig from his glass them put it down heavily on the small table to his left. "Is Mrs Fitzwilliam with you?"

"No, she has remained in Kent. I am here to find us apartments for the season," Colonel Fitzwilliam decided in that moment that he could do nought but immediately dispense with pleasantries, so turned the conversation to the true objective of his visit, "but I wished to speak to you about your behaviour."

"My behaviour?"

"Yes, your abominable treatment of my wife."

"I don't know what you mean," the Earl blustered, topping up his glass of claret.

"That isn't true, father, I know John spoke to you when you were at Hensleigh. What on earth possessed you to treat my wife so despicably?"

"Now Richard, be reasonable-" Lord Fitzwilliam raised his arms in a calming gesture.

"I am being perfectly reasonable!" the Colonel erupted in a fit of pique, "I swore to love and protect Elizabeth – not that you would know, you didn't have the decency to turn up – and then, in my absence, you treat her appallingly and you allow my mother to do the same!"

"My God, boy, surely you never truly expected up to turn up for the ceremony? I will admit, I developed some fondness for Mrs Fitzwilliam while we were visiting you cousin, but all we knew at the time was that you had found some back-water country tart who was playing nurse in a hospital here in London. We could hardly be there at the church," the Earl exclaimed.

"I will not tolerate this," Colonel Fitzwilliam declared, slamming his glass of port onto the table s he flung himself to his feet.

"Do grow up, boy. Get back here and hold a conversation like an adult," he called to the Colonel's retreating back. "Your mother and I will be leaving for Milton at the end of the week, and we shall be gone for the better part of a month. You need to speak to your mother; she has not seen you since you returned." [1]

"I do not think I do, actually," the Colonel shouted back over his shoulder, then added sarcastically, "enjoy the hunt!"

Snatching his gloves and crop from the sideboard and pulled his hat roughly onto his head, Colonel Fitzwilliam did not wait for the footman to open the door. Instead, he yanked it open forcefully and strode out into the rain.

oOoOoOo

The hour was late by the time Colonel Fitzwilliam made it to his cousin's house on Hanover Square. The butler, a portly gentleman in a pressed collar and tight breeches, had a deeply unimpressed expression on his face, but let him in without a word. The Colonel was directed to Darcy's private sitting room at the back of the house, where the master of the house kept his finest books and liquor.

"Isn't your face a sight for sorry eyes," Fitzwilliam declared as he strode into the room. It was a space with a pervading masculine air: the furniture was upholstered in shades of navy and maroon, the desk and chairs to one side of the room where carved from deep mahogany wood, and the marble mantelpiece which stood opposite the door was dramatic and imposing.

"Richard, it is good to see you, coz," Darcy exclaimed as he rose from his chair by the fire to embrace his cousin. "I did not know you were come to London – I thought you were in Kent with Ponsonby?"

"I travelled into town yesterday, I need to find an apartment for us here, I cannot ask John to board us any longer. Spent last night at an inn, but after my last trip to the Continent I never plan to sleep anywhere with such large rats again. Unfortunately, I do not wish to stay with my parents tonight, so I am going to impose on you."

"I believe it is customary to at least feign a request, but as you have been lost to French incivility for the best part of a year, I shall forgive your slight this once." A man with a lesser acquaintance with Mr Darcy might this his expression solemn, even offended, but the Colonel could see the wrinkles around his eyes and lift in his forehead which broadcast his humour.

"You are a good man, Darce. And your cook makes the best pound cake this side of the Thames, so I shall be even more grateful come morning."

The gentlemen settled down into the chairs facing the fire, each nursing a glass of their preferred drink. The comfortable atmosphere which settled between them was familiar and easy. As childhood playmates they had balanced out each other's strengths and weaknesses. Richard, the elder of the tow, had drawn a reticent Fitzwilliam out of his shell, while the young Darcy had been a calming influence on his wilder cousin.

"Why do you not wish to stay in Grosvenor Square this evening?" Darcy enquired after a moments silence, "I do not remember you ever having a problem going there before." [2]

"A disagreement with the parentibus." [3]

"What could you possibly have quarrelled about? I thought you have only been in town for two days."

"Well, I though it a reasonable request for the to treat my wife like the magnificent woman she is, not like a gutter rat, but they disagreed."

"Surely you exaggerate?" Darcy challenged. The Colonel sighed,

"Perhaps a little, but not nearly as much as I would like. They visited Ponsonby, with whom Elizabeth has been staying, while I was away. Elizabeth did not wish me to know their interactions had been anything other than pleasant, John told me that my mother's contempt for her was quite clear, while father did absolutely nothing to stop her viciousness."

"I would hate for you to think I agree with her, but how did you expect her to react? You married an unknown country girl who I am sure I quite charming but an unknown country girl nonetheless. We have never heard of her father, according to you her mother comes from trade, and you met her at a hospital when she was doing God knows what to other men."

"I'll bloody well stop you right there, Darcy, you go too far!" Fitzwilliam shouted as he flew from his seat.

"Calm down, Richard, I am not saying she did anything other than admirable work at the hospital, but you must consider – these are the things people shall think, and possibly say to your face, when you bring her to town."

Colonel returned to his seat muttering expletives and shaking his head. "Elizabeth is the daughter of a gentleman and _my_ wife, does that afford her no respect?"

"Her mother came from _trade,_ Richard."

"I don't see how anyone would know Lizzy's mother's origins if our family does not disperse them and it would hardly be advantageous for them to do so. Besides, the Gardiners are hardly poor merchants. Mr Gardiner, Mrs Bennet's brother, is a shrewd and successful businessman. I notice you have not expressed your own opinion if these things – shall you be as rude as condescending as you are convinced every other member of the Ton shall be?"

"Of course not, you fool, she's your wife – if she can manage to put up with _you_ , my respect is the least I owe her. I am sure she must be positively saintly."

"I would agree with you if I did not know you were jesting, she truly is an angel."

"In that case, I can hardly contain my excitement at the prospect of meeting her." With that, the two men descended back into comfortable silence. The fire crackled as a log collapsed into the flames; the gentlemen sipped their port and brandy from crystal spirit glasses. The Colonel picked his feet up onto the footrest and sighed.

oOoOoOo

[1] Milton Hall is the largest private house in Cambridgeshire. As part of the Soke of Peterborough, it used to be part of Northamptonshire. The Hall dates from 1594 and is the historical home of the Fitzwilliam family – the land has was bought by Sir William Fitzwilliam in 1502 - is situated in an extensive park in which some original oak trees from an earlier Tudor deer park survive. The rooms and 'big house feel' of the Hall inspired the interior of Manderley in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca.

[2] The London home of the Earl Fitzwilliam was 4 Grosvenor Square. He inherited it the huge windfall you might remember from a while back, from his uncle the 2nd Marquess of Rockingham. It was bought by the 1st Marquess, Thomas Watson-Wentworth, Baron Malton, from Francis Howard, 1st Earl of Effingham, who had previously rented it to Edward Howard, 9th Duke of Norfolk. As you can tell from that list of names, it was a pretty highfalutin place to live.

[3] Parentibus: parents in latin


	18. Chapter 18

A/N I feel a bit mean about dangling a certain someone in front on you and then doing this, but hey-ho. You'll get over it.

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 29** **th** **August 1794**

The time had finally come for Colonel and Mrs Fitzwilliam to pack up their small collection of belongings into a matching set of trunks and climb into Viscount Duncannon's carriage, which would convey them to London. It was an emotional goodbye for Elizabeth. She had spent the better part of the year in Duncannon's company; he had become the elder brother she never had. Ponsonby was one of her dearest friends. They exchanged fervent promises to write to one another, while the Colonel dramatically sulked from a jealous distance, before he could not hold the façade any longer and laughed, imploring his cousin to hurry himself so they could finally be gone. Ponsonby kissed Mrs Fitzwilliam's gloved hand, then passed her over to her husband to be helped into the carriage.

The journey was as many carriage journeys are – jolting, uncomfortable and restless. The summer had been good to the roads and the Viscount's equipage was well-sprung, but Elizabeth was sure that a day in a carriage would never be enjoyable. The company, in contrast, was exceptional. It was quite wonderful, Elizabeth thought, that even after so many months apart, they could fall into an easy rhythm. The conversation they shared was never dull nor repetitive; they did not cease to be comforted or excited by the other's touch.

By the time the carriage drew to a halt outside their apartments on Portman Square, the hour was late, though the sun was still hovering reluctantly above the skyline. The establishment Colonel Fitzwilliam had found them was a charming sliver at the end of a terrace. The furnishings were not with the current fashions – he explained that there were not sufficient funds at present to let her refurbish the place – but Elizabeth did not care. After over a year of marriage, this was her first house with her husband. It was not a holiday residence, it was not a relative's home, it was theirs. Knowing that the Colonel was sensitive to the dated decorations despite the well-to-do neighbourhood, Elizabeth exclaimed over the writing desk, declaring it quite adorable. She pronounced herself in love with the curtains in the parlour, and asked, did he not think the arrangement of the chairs tasteful? Whether or not the Colonel knew that much of her appreciation was for his benefit, he became more relaxed about the topic of their residence.

Her first act as mistress of her own home was to invite her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner for dinner. The Fitzwilliam's had only a small staff – a cook, a maid and a footman – but they were able to host an enjoyable evening of scintillating conversation and good company. It made it startlingly clear to Elizabeth how much her world had shrunk in the past year. Though Meryton had only four and twenty families with whom she socialised with any regularity, Elizabeth _Bennet_ had been gregarious girl. Though Elizabeth _Fitzwilliam_ had greeted people after church on a Sunday and occasionally entertained locals of importance at Hensleigh, she no longer had a wide circle of acquaintances. She was sure that living in London would allow her to change that.

Elizabeth was in her dressing room contemplating an invitation to her husband's ward, Georgiana, who she had heard much about but never met. Georgiana was a student of one of the preeminent ladies' seminaries in London, and allowed to visit relatives on Sunday afternoons and occasionally on Wednesdays. Colonel Fitzwilliam strode purposefully through the door and took her hand.

"I am ever so sorry darling, but I have been called to work for a few days. I have to pick up some sensitive information from the War Office and relay it to the fleet commander in Southampton – I should only be three days, four at most." Elizabeth was very sorry to see him go, but she kissed him anyway, and told him how much she loved him. As he left, he whispered that there was a surprise for her in the parlour, but she must wait for him to be gone before she began searching for it. She waited just long enough to hear the front door close before she rushed to the parlour, where she found a canary in a gilded cage. There was a note pinned to top of the cage, which read _'he does not yet have a name, but I have been told he sings beautifully. Perhaps you shall think of me as he makes his tune'._

Delighted with her gift, Elizabeth immediately sat down to pen the Colonel a note of love and appreciation, which if she sent directly, she was sure would meet him before he left Southampton to return. Then she found some dried fruits in the pantry and spent the rest of the morning coaxing her canary, whom she had decided to call Citrine, to sing. [1]

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 9** **th** **September 1794**

Colonel Fitzwilliam had ridden to Southampton and back to London without any issue. Once he had returned, he set about enjoying his domestic life with his wife. In an approximation of the time after their wedding, they had few visitors, instead enjoying their time alone. While they had dined with the Gardiner on several occasions, they had received no calls from the Colonel's family as they were still at Milton Hall. A visit to Georgiana was planned for the coming Sunday, but his hopes of finally introducing Elizabeth to his cousin Darcy were dashed when he received a hastily scribbled note from said cousin.

 _Fitzwilliam,_

 _I am just letting you know that I am leaving London presently, and shall likely not return until the new year. There had been a fire at Pemberley – my steward informs that a large portion of the east wing is damaged, and there are concerns over the structural soundness of several rooms. I must oversee the rebuilding in person._

 _Please pass on my compliments and apologies to your wife. I trust you will fulfil all obligations in regard to Georgiana while you are in town, I shall write to her separately. Remind her to smile._

 _F. Darcy_

oOoOoOo

 **Sunday 14** **th** **September 1794**

Elizabeth was nervous. It was a jittery, fluttery feeling which had started behind her navel and slowly rose until it was tickling her throat. Today she was meeting her husband's ward, the little girl who was as close to a daughter as her husband had. Little was perhaps a stretch, as Georgiana was thirteen years of age, but quite tall. That was Elizabeth's first thought – Georgiana was tall. She was also beautiful.

"Georgie, look how much you are grown!" Colonel and Mrs Fitzwilliam had picked the young Miss Darcy from her school to take a leisurely stroll about the nearby park. The day was mild and hazily bright, and with a beloved lady on one arm and a beloved girl on the other, the Colonel led to conversation. "How are your studies? Your brother tells me your piano playing is coming along very nicely."

Georgiana smiled in response and whispered some thanks or another. This was Elizabeth's second thought – Georgiana was shy. Painfully so. When they were introduced, Miss Darcy had been all politeness and civility, but she had barely been to meet Elizabeth's gaze. Lizzy was determined to change that.

They wandered along together and, slowly, Georgiana emerged from her shell. Elizabeth was sure to ask her many questions in the gentle manner of a practiced older sister, and Georgiana explained that no, she did not have a great many friends, but she had a particular friend named Charlotte. Elizabeth was quick to exclaim that she also had a close friend called Charlotte, though they had not corresponded in quite some time, and she asked if perhaps Georgiana could be her particular friend instead. The young girl, delighted at the prospect of being friends with somebody she thought was ever so clever, quickly agreed. In a moment when Georgiana's attention was elsewhere, Colonel Fitzwilliam caught Elizabeth's eye and winked approvingly.

The rest of the afternoon was spent pleasingly. They deposited Georgianna back at her seminary, exchanging promises to correspond, then returned to their apartments. Elizabeth settled for a leisurely hour with her bible as was her wont on a Sunday, while Fitzwilliam, less enamoured of God, sorted through his military correspondence. Her canary was in his cage next to her, and at intervals she fed it seeds from a bowl.

As she closed her bible, Elizabeth stopped to appreciate the beautiful peace which existed between them. She turned to remark upon this to her husband but saw that the letter in his had was fluttering. The knuckles of the hand which gripped it were visibly white and the Colonel was shaking violently.

"Fitzwilliam!" she called as she raced to him, "Fitzwilliam?" She tore the letter from his fist and grasped his hand, but he did not look at her – in fact, he did not lift his gaze from the point on the table to which it was fixed. "Richard, darl? What is the matter?" When he finally looked up at her, she saw no recognition in his eyes. Instead, there was a look which was at once blank yet wild. After several minutes of holding his hand as he shook, he finally stilled, and Elizabeth guided his gaze to hers with a gentle touch on his face. "Richard?"

"I wasn't- it was-" Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head as though shaking off cobwebs of confusion. "You weren't-"

"I'm right here, Richard," Elizabeth murmured, clasping both of his hands in hers. "You can feel me, here, I'm right here."

Elizabeth could see in his eyes and the set of his jaw and the taught skin at his temple that her husband was greatly distressed, but she also knew that he did not have the words to describe what had happened. Instead, she drew him to his feet and led him to their bedroom, where she helped him to remove his jacket and get into bed. As she curled up beside him, their hands still palm to palm – once Richard had a grip on hers, he could not let go – she turned away so that he would not see the tears as they gathered in her eyes.

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 16** **th** **September 1794**

It was with great apprehension that Colonel Fitzwilliam informed his wife that his parents had returned to Town. He had received a missive that morning, but had waited several hours to tell her, gathering his courage. Debating whether to state it outright or try to slip it gently in conversation, eventually he decided to be upfront with her.

"Darling," he took her hand as he knelt by her desk where she was writing a letter, "My mother and father have returned from the country." From his place at her side he could see clearly that she swallowed, but her expression was calm as she turned to him.

"I imagine that you shall be summoned to them presently?" she enquired softly.

"I have already been told to visit them. Elizabeth- they have asked that you join me." He was quick to interrupt he as she started to speak, to reassure her, "If you do not wish to come, I shall not make you. Certainly, you are under no pressure to accompany me, I shall tell them that you are indisposed."

"If you would let me speak," Elizabeth had an amused little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, "I was about to say that I would enjoy an excursion out. Besides, I would find your mother's recommendation about which balls we should attend first useful - I am sure she is a fount of knowledge about these things. Do close your mouth, Fitzwilliam, lest somebody mistake you for a pilchard."

Colonel Fitzwilliam kissed her firmly on each cheek then on the lips, declaring,

"I always knew there was a reason I fell in love with you!" But his expression quickly slipped back to apprehension. "Are you sure?"

"My courage rises with every attempt to intimidate me, surely you know that by now?"

Elizabeth was careful to dress elegantly prior to leaving for Grosvenor Square. While she was not making a first impression, more was expected of an encounter in Town than was expected in a country drawing room. She donned a new dress, one of the few she purchased since they had removed to London and powdered her face in an attempt to disguise her tanned skin. Her sturdy boots were discarded in favour of something daintier.

The entrance of the Colonel and his wife was auspicious. The servants all greeted them happily, and a tea service had been delivered to the parlour to the rear of the house, which was reserved for close friends and family. Despite her relationship to their son, Elizabeth had expected to be held at an arm's length in the public drawing room. Firmly optimistic after such portents, she was disappointed – though not surprised - when the Lady of the house entered with a cool greeting and sceptical look in her eye.

"Richard, come here and kiss your mother," she commanded superciliously. Exchanging a knowing look with his wife, Richard bent to kiss the elder lady's cheek. When he returned to his seat next to Elizabeth, he took her hand, squeezing it gently.

"You are still in London then," Lady Charlotte said.

"As you see," was her son's reply. Elizabeth dug her elbow into his ribs as subtly as she could. "Yes, I believe we will say as long as I am in the country."

"Well," she harrumphed. "Charles shall not be in Town until January at the earliest, the least you can do it stay until then."

"I am afraid, mother, I shall have little say in the matter." Elizabeth nudged him again, waiting for the Countess to be occupied with scowling into her tea to whisper,

"Behave, Fitzwilliam."

The Earl appeared at the door with a blank expression on his face and the party rose to greet him. He did Elizabeth the honour of bowing smartly as he kissed her hand, which she could see pleased her husband greatly. The following conversation was cordial, if stilted at times. In her husband's presence, Lady Charlotte's sniping was kept to a minimum, and the Earl made a concerted effort ensure all parties remained both polite and affable.

The conclusion by most of those present was that a future relationship should not be exceedingly difficult and at times even pleasant. If a certain illustrious personage was less than satisfied with the situation, she felt it would be imprudent to discuss it.

oOoOoOo

The heat under the overs which had always been a comfort to Elizabeth was now unbearably stifling. She had fallen asleep in the Colonel's arms many hours ago, but had been woken by his tossing. As the minutes had passed by, his restlessness had gotten worse and worse, until his arms were flung out at his sides and one of his kicking legs hit the bedframe with a rattling thump. His intermittent mumbles had increased from quiet exclamations to frantic cries, and Elizabeth could not bear it any longer.

"Fitzwilliam," she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder in the hopes that it would rouse him, but he remained immersed in his nightmare, so she shook him slightly as she called his name louder. Still his fortress of despair was impenetrable. Then the wall of sleep came crashing down. He sat up suddenly with such force that Elizabeth was thrown away from him, and with speed she had never know him to possess he grabbed both of her shoulders and pinned her to the bed.

"Fitzwilliam, what are you doing?" she exclaimed in distress at the wildness in his eyes as he shook her, no recognition in his eyes. She cried out in pain as his fingers dug into her flesh, while he shouted over and over "do not touch me do not touch me do not touch me!"

"Fitzwilliam, let go of me!" she shouted, shoving his chest and writhing in an attempt to extricate herself from his grasp, but he was both strong and heavy, and she could not move him. She remained held in a vice-like grip underneath him as he shook her and shoved he into the mattress. Either a devil had taken hold of him, or he thought he was ridding her of a possession of her own.

Slowly his wildness dissipated, the light returning to his eyes; Elizabeth finally saw a spark of recognition in his eyes. His hands shook with increasing violence as he pushed himself off her, backing off the bed until he had his back pressed against the wall. Then his knees gave out and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. He stayed there, crumpled. Elizabeth did not rise from the bed. Neither of them said a word.

oOoOoOo

[1] Citrine is a type of golden yellow quartz.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N I will include a warning and disclaimer for this chapter – PTSD is discussed in some depth, in the language and understanding of the late 18th century, which is to say, it in no way reflects what we now know about it.

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 2** **nd** **October 1794**

Elizabeth had forgotten the strength with which she detested the fog of London. It had been two years since she was in town during the autumn months, and the interim had banished all thought of the oppressive, choking smog from her mind. As all the households that could afford to do so lit their fires to ward off the chill of the coming winter, a cloak of smoke descended over the city. It was at times like this that Elizabeth missed the idyllic countryside of her childhood, but she would not trade her current circumstances for the world.

Since the reunion with her husband's family the fortnight before, the Mr and Mrs Fitzwilliam had dined at Grosvenor Square twice and visited for tea on an additional three occasions. Lady Charlotte was showing no more pleasure at Elizabeth's presence than she ever had, but the Earl was regaining that gentle affection he had developed for his daughter-in-law in the spring. The Colonel was making overtures towards repairing his relationship with his father, and the social season was finally in full swing. Elizabeth was sure she could not be happier.

There were moments when her happiness was called into doubt, however. Those were the times when the Colonel left her. His body did not leave, but his mind would go elsewhere and there was little she could do to retrieve it. Sometimes she could convince herself he was merely daydreaming, but there were other times when he returned from his trance so unlike himself that she was sure the places he visited were far from dream-like.

They did not talk of it. There was so little to say.

To distract herself from her concern, Elizabeth was making friends wherever she could. She had visited her husband's ward again; Lizzy was firmly convinced they would be excellent friends. She was presently readying herself for her first ball since before she was married and could not wait to finally dance with Colonel Fitzwilliam.

As it was to be her first proper appearance of the season, the Colonel has insisted that she spare no expense. She was adorned with more feathers, silk and lace than she thought seemly, but was apparently the current fashion. There had been a moment of panic when it was discovered that there was no chalk in the house, but after the footman was quickly dispatched to purchase some, the situation was resolved with little difficulty. [1]

Adjusting the feathers in her bonnet as she waited for Colonel Fitzwilliam to collect her, she admired Citrine, who was singing in his cage in the corner. Her tiny canary had been her joyful little companion for the last month and Elizabeth had grown very fond of him. She liked to feed him seeds through the bars of the cage, and sometimes – when the Colonel was not at home and she was feeling particularly playful – she would let him out to fly around the room.

Elizabeth did not notice that Colonel Fitzwilliam had entered until he wrapped an arm about her waist and reached up to tug on one of her curls.

"You are beautiful tonight," Fitzwilliam whispered into her ear he embraced her, "but then you are beautiful every night, so I have no need to be surprised." He pressed a few kisses up her neck until she laughed at his cheek and pushed him away.

"You will surely destroy the beautiful creation that is my hair tonight, and we certainly do not have the time for it to be redone – I would hate to be an embarrassment to you tonight. And I shall not have much opportunity to dazzle them with my sparkling wit, so I shall simply have to let this ridiculous hair make a good first impression."

"You could never embarrass me, darling," the Colonel kissed her a final time then looped her arm through his. "Come, the carriage should be waiting for us."

oOoOoOo

The Hanover Square Rooms were not a considerable distance from Colonel and Mrs Fitzwilliam's apartments in Portman Square, so the journey was short and easy. They arrived after the ball was already in full swing, so they were quickly announced before being escorted to the hosts. A childhood friend of the Colonel had leased the assembly rooms for the evening; he and his wife were in the corner of the long room, surrounded by acquaintances.

The atmosphere was a joyful one, and Elizabeth quickly immersed herself in the amusements of a ball. She delighted in the fabulous music and marvelled at the vast ornaments somehow attached to the well-to-do ladies' hair. Her eye was sharp and her tongue witty, and she drew as much enjoyment from observation as she did from participation.

"Do you see that the peacock feather in Lady Cambell's magnificent hair – which brings out the blue in her eyes so charmingly – tickle Mr Mulberry's nose so? He shall soon be mistaken for a rabbit if he does not cease twitching his nose so violently. It is no surprise that he does not say anything, however, all of us here are rightly terrified of her fan. I heard," Elizabeth leaned in to whisper exaggeratedly, "that she had her brother's sabre melted down to make it. No wonder it is such a fearsome creation."

The Colonel pinched her side playfully and exclaimed, "It is a wonder that I can let you out in public; I am certain you shall be the death of me, you wicked woman."

The music came to a flourishing end as the set finished, and the dancers and spectators burst into applause. The Colonel startled. Reaching out to grasp his arm, Elizabeth gave him a gentle squeeze and nodded to a table of refreshments.

"I'm certain this evening shall be a much more enjoyable endeavour if we both have a glass in hand."

Smiling in understanding, Colonel Fitzwilliam wove his way through the throng, intercepted momentarily by an old acquaintance. Elizabeth watched as he bowed his head cheerfully, exchanging a few words of greeting before carrying on. Though her happiest moments were when she was squirrelled away with her husband, it brought her joy to see him flourish in the company of others. He had a simple elegance in society, an ease with which he shared himself with others. Her only regret about her marriage was that some of her softness had been lost to loneliness. It was only in the months since they moved to London together had Elizabeth's social circle had expanded. She now saw more than the four and twenty families she dined with as Miss Elizabeth, but there had been a significant stretch of time when visits, dances and dinners were simply unwanted.

Taking the glass from the outstretched hand of her returning husband she enquired softly,

"Was I a person when we married?" The Colonel cocked his head as his brows drew together.

"I'm sorry?"

"Was I- was I an individual? Was I myself, just myself, without being a part of someone else?" She loved him even more for the time he took to truly consider her question, even as he drew her hand up to kiss the back of it.

"You are asking if your identity was defined enough that you did not lose a part of yourself when you married me."

"No- well, not precisely. Had I finished becoming the person I had the potential to become before my identity was influenced by being 'Mrs Fitzwilliam'?"

"I understand. And I cannot know if the Lizzy you would have been is the same Lizzy I am standing next to. I just know that I loved the Elizabeth I married, and I love the Elizabeth I am married to. I do not know the Elizabeth you might have been if you spent longer as Lizzy Bennet." He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he paused. "But I cannot determine if your individual identity has become one part of 'you and me'. Only you will have the answer to that."

The band played the introduction to the next dance and couples began to form on the floor.

"Come, let us dance. You can finish your crisis of identity once we have danced at least this set." Elizabeth laughed as she took his hand, dipping into a curtsey she replied,

"I am sure I have never had such a charming offer. My kind sir, you _do_ have a way with words."

oOoOoOo

When the music swelled to a peak, the Colonel winced. Elizabeth squeezed his hand and carried on. When an unexpected clap on his shoulder startled him, it was enough for the Colonel to spill his drink. Elizabeth placed his glass aside and dabbed his glove with her handkerchief. When a strident voice spoke loudly behind him, the Colonel reached to his belt for the sabre which was not there. Elizabeth touched his arm and pointed out the wig of an elderly gentleman which had fallen askew.

They danced another two sets together. Elizabeth danced an additional set with another gentleman as the Colonel nursed his drink and pretended he was not glowering at his wife's partner. As she finished the set and applauded with the other dancers and observers, she caught sight of her Colonel Fitzwilliam out of her eye.

"Thank you for the dance, sir, it was most enjoyable," she curtsied quickly and pushed her way through the throng, not afraid to deploy a sharp elbow when necessary.

"Richard, I'm here. Can you feel me? I'm taking your arm." She gently guided him through the closest exit and along the hallway. "Let us find you a somewhere to- I pray you excuse me, I did not realise this room was occupied," shutting the door and proceeding along the passage, she found an empty room and pulled the Colonel inside.

He was shaking and vacant. Encouraging him to plant his feet on the floor as he sank into a chair, Elizabeth stroked his hand with all the façade of calm she could muster. "Darling, do you know what startled you?"

It took many moments for Colonel Fitzwilliam to answer.

"I think- I think it was the clapping. It made me think of- I felt as though I was back- back- I was taking fire from the French."

On her knees in front of him, Elizabeth pressed the back of his palm to her forehead to hide her closed, tear-filled eyes. "I am sorry. I not realised that a ball would-"

"Don't you dare," he growled with a ferocity she had not expected him possess while his hands still shook, even as he tore them from her grasp. "Don't you dare. This wretched sickness is not your fault, I should be able to fight these- these- shadows."

"And how do you suppose you should do that? Whisk your musket away into your dreams to slay your demons?"

"Don't be facetious, Mrs Fiztwilliam," he snarled as he kneaded his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Richard, you are no less a man because you are haunted by these shadows. You are _no less a man_. Please," she begged, "please believe me."

"Would a man fall into pieces because of some pretty clapping at a ball? I do not think so. No," he interrupted as Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, "I think it is time for us to leave. I trust we have both had enough dancing for one evening."

Elizabeth did not argue, knowing the outcome was futile. They had already had such conversations – when Colonel Fitzwilliam blamed himself for the dragon in his mind that he had yet to slay, and her counters were met with anger and hostility, which he mostly redirected into himself. The carriage ride home was mercifully short; conversation and eye-contact were scarce.

The evening which had begun so joyously finished with Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam facing away from each other in the bed. They were not touching. They did not speak until Elizabeth whispered, the words so soft they had to fight against the silence to be heard,

"I don't know how much longer we can do this, Richard."

"I know, darling. I know."

Neither spoke again.

oOoOoOo

[1] Slippery fabric slippers + polished floors = a precarious situation for dancing, so ladies would use chalk on the soles of their feet to make it easier to get a grip. If the host of the ball was extremely wealthy and it was a special occasion, elaborate chalk pictures would be draw on the floor of the ballroom, partly to stop people from slipping around, but also just to show off that you could.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N Thank you to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed. I'm sorry if I haven't replied to you – I've been too busy to respond, but I have read and loved every one of them.

A note for a certain part of the chapter – you will know it when you get there – I had to put a lot of research into this, so I decided not to also research the Earl's political views regarding the revolution. He views are not his views, basically.

oOoOoOo

 **7** **th** **November 1794**

Somehow the night had drawn in without Elizabeth noticing. The candles had been lit, though she had no memory of a maid neither coming nor going, and the fire had been freshly stoked. In front of her lay three letters. The first had arrived two weeks previous, the second at the beginning of the week and the last that morning. Snatching up the letters, she paused to collect herself for a moment at the threshold of the parlour before she began towards her husband's study.

If her chest felt a little tight it did not slow her steps. There was little possibility of her hands shaking, as they tightly held the letters against her chest. She found the Colonel slouched in his favourite chair, a cigar in one hand and a spirit glass in the other, gazing solemnly into the flames.

"Am I interrupting you, darling? There is something I want to talk to you about."

Colonel Fitzwilliam placed his drink aside and stretched out a hand, tugging Elizabeth to perch on his lap. "What do you need, Lizzie?"

If her eyes had met his, she would have seen concern in the crinkled corners, but her gaze was firmly fixed on his cravat. "I could not do it any more, I could not simply ignore what you have been going through. So I wrote to two doctors here in England – a Frenchman and a Swiss - and another in Spain. I had heard that there was more recognition of the plight of returned soldiers in other parts of the continent, and I was right. Look." She pressed the letters into his hand and she continued to explain.

"We don't really understand it here, but Swiss doctors have known about it for years. See here," she pointed to a paragraph, "Dr Aebischer says they call it 'nostalgia'. He describes it as being characterised by melancholy, disturbed sleep or insomnia, weakness, loss of appetite, anxiety and cardiac palpitations. And Doctor Fauvre calls it 'maladie du pays'. He gave three stages- where is it?- here," she shuffled the letters until the necessary sheet was on top. "'heightened excitement and imagination,' 'a period of fever and prominent gastrointestinal symptoms,' and then 'frustration and depression'. While it does not precisely describe your experiences, there is simply too much similarity to overlook."

Colonel had his eyes fixed to the letters as Elizabeth spoke, but she could feel his focus on her words. The hand which held the cigar had slowly dropped until he startled back to himself, quickly pressing it out in the ashtray.

"And these doctors, do they tell you how to- how to fix me?"

"Darling, you don't need 'fixing', just a little help to reorder yourself," Elizabeth reassured as she kissed his brow. "Regardless of what they call it – estar roto, heimweh, maladie du pays – they have written the same things: remember to breathe, feel your feet on the floor, ask me to hold you hand. You need a reminder that you are _here_ , not over _there_. So that is what we shall do." [1]

A sudden burst of panic flashed across the Colonel's face, and he frantically flicked through the letters in distress.

"You did not tell them my name? Please, tell me you did not say either of our names."

"I wrote as Mrs F. Bennet, enquiring about her brother's behaviour. Do not fret, I would not risk exposing you so. No word shall reach the War Office, I made sure of that." The Colonel's relief was palpable as he pressed his face into her curls, drawing comfort from the sweet, familiar smell.

"Have I told you today that I love you?"

"I am sure you must have. In fact, you seem to suffer from a compulsive need to tell me so. Are your sure I should not have approached a doctor about that instead?" Elizabeth laughed as she kissed him on the nose.

"I could have married anyone. Why did I not find myself a meek, quiet, obedient little wife to stroke my hair and serve me tea?"

"You ought to have, but this fictional wife of yours would not have made you nearly so happy. And she certainly would no have put up the nonsense I had to when we first met. I must be the only woman in the country mad enough of foolish enough to say yes to you!"

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 11** **th** **November**

It is strange how the world changes without a thought and suddenly everything which once meant home seems foreign, and that which was beyond imagination is as comfortable as a hot posset on a snow-struck afternoon. As a small girl, she had played with her little wooden dogs to the sound of her mother arguing with her father about buying more candles. Now Elizabeth was perched on an over-stuffed seat surrounded by more beeswax candles than ought to be necessary, quite at ease with such a display of wealth. Similarly, the number of mirrors on the wall would be obnoxiously decadent if they did not complement the space so. Dinner had included more courses than Mrs Bennet – despite her renown for a fine table – had ever served, and the turtle soup was seasoned to perfection.

An evening at Grosvenor square was never dull. With a stuffy nose after the first course and a faint expression over fruit, Lady Charlotte eventually succumbed to the plight of her health and retired to the attentions of her lady's maid. Presently in the library, the remaining company took advantage of the inevitable relaxation of formality which accompanied the Countess' departure.

"While I shan't deny that if the manifesto had not been issued the Continent would most likely still be in this situation, it was both arrogant and short-sighted of the Duke to believe that it should do anything but strengthen the resolve of the opposition." [2]

Colonel Fitzwilliam watched with a smirk as his wife vehemently defended her stance in direct opposition of his father. If he was a man inclined to be bothered by societal expectations, he would have been troubled by the fire in Elizabeth's eyes, or the way she courageously and intelligently articulated her argument. Instead, he sat back with amusement on his lips and admiration in the angle at which he held his head.

"You cannot honestly believe that Brunswick should have acted any differently?" the Earl demanded. "It is in the best interest of our order to maintain the sovereignties of Europe; the manifesto was a just warning of the bloodshed to come if the Parisians continued."

"Did it not occur to them that after the disaster of the Declaration of Pillnitz, attempting to dictate the direction of the uprising was a terrible idea?" [3]

The Earl, both incensed and intrigued, turned to the Colonel, "You would let your wife insult our Allies?"

"It may not yet have come to your attention, Father, but I do not 'let' my wife do anything."

"Pillnitz enraged the French, my Lord," Elizabeth continued, "It was practically a declaration of war, it would not have been unreasonable to assume they would interpret it as such."

"It was not a 'declaration of war,' Mrs Fitzwilliam-"

"It called for external forces to fight for ' _the foundations of a monarchical government suiting to the rights of the sovereigns_!'"

"-' _and favourable to the well-being of the French'._ You cannot pick and choose you parts you quote, Mrs Fitzwilliam. And presently you are arguing with the fervour of a republican."

"I love my King as much as you do, my Lord. Do not mistake my scepticism regarding the actions leading up to the war as anything other than scepticism. When I make my presentation at court it shall be with adoration for my country and my monarchy. But you cannot expect me concede that the Brunswick manifesto could have resulted in anything other than the ardent defence of the principles of the revolution – no matter that I disagree with many of those principles."

"That is not a qualifier I should not like to hear. The plight of the French peasants is not unsympathetic, but surely you cannot believe in any of their ideals?"

"Is dictating what others can and cannot believe a practiced pastime of yours, my Lord? You have already indulged several times this evening." The lift of a single brow matched Elizabeth's arch tone, and despite himself Lord Fitzwilliam laughed out loud.

"There cannot be a moment of peace in your home," he mused.

"Father," the Colonel replied sardonically, "I know better now than to argue back." He clapped the Earl on the shoulder as he rose, explaining, "I think I left one of my overcoats in my rooms upstairs – I was going to send Jones over to check but I might as well have a look while I'm here."

It was the first time Elizabeth had been left alone in the company of her father-in-law. Strangely, it was not an uncomfortable feeling. Certainly the most unexpected part of melting into this foreign life was becoming relaxed and content in the presence of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in England.

"How are you coping, Elizabeth? Honestly?"

"I beg your pardon, my Lord?" Elizabeth startled. Leaning over to take her hand, the Earl had a soft expression of his face. The longer she spent in London and in the company of her husband's family, the more she was learning about Lord Fitzwilliam. He was at heart a gentle soul, she had discovered. He was in tune with those he cared about and, underneath is aristocratic bluster, sensitive to those around him. Elizabeth rather loved him.

"I know that things have been difficult for you lately. The situation with Richard is not an easy one."

"I- well-" Elizabeth was flustered by his concern, arriving as it did at an unexpected moment. "It has not been easy, no. But we have received some advice, and before that Richard already seemed to be recovering somewhat."

"I am glad to hear that, very glad. I am sorry there is not more I could do."

"We are grateful for your support, my Lord. We had hoped, of course, to keep it a quiet matter, but-"

"I know my son too well to be fooled by platitudes and misdirection? Quite."

"He would rather you had no knowledge of the- struggles- he, we are currently facing."

"I understand, Mrs Fitzwilliam. I shan't say a word."

When they were re-joined by Colonel Fitzwilliam, the conversation had turned to the benefits of crop rotation on the retention of tenant farmers on small country estates. Though the Colonel had little to offer to the discussion, he was nonetheless happy to observe his brilliant wife in all her glory.

oOoOoOo

Dear Fitzwilliam,

I hope this letter finds you and your wife in good health. Though I cannot say I am disappointed to be missing the amusements of Town at this time, the combined reports of my aunt and uncle make me quite sure I should like to see Mrs Fitzwilliam charming and scandalising the insipid gossips of the Ton in equal measure. The Earl certainly seems to enjoy her.

The repairs and renovations of Pemberley have been successful and, barring a catastrophe while the finishing touches are being made, the estate will be back to its former glory within the next few weeks. How would you feel about coming to stay in March, before I make my way down to Aunt Catherine's for my yearly obligatory visit? You shall be welcome as long as you like, although I'm sure a month or two should do it.

Georgiana writes that she is well and enjoying you company when you take her on outings – though I must confess she write much more frequently of your wife than she does you. I remember the days when it was 'dear cousin Richard' she called upon to defend her when she had decided I was being horribly mean. Instead I imagine the fearsome Mrs Fitzwilliam will now be summoned to chastise me for making her eat her vegetables and reminding her to pen thank you notes, or whatever her most recent grievance was.

I look forward to hearing an ardent affirmative regarding the plan for your visit.

Yours,

Darcy

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 27** **th** **November**

It was the lack of pathetic fallacy which bothered Elizabeth. All of the novels she had ever read assured her than the sky would be grey with pregnant clouds and the cold air would hang heavily. Instead, the day was unseasonably mild, with the sun casting a cheerful warmth over the city.

Or perhaps the arrival of the messenger should have been accompanied by doleful bells or howling dogs or some other such portentous omens. But it wasn't. In quite an ordinary fashion, the messenger had delivered the note to the servants' entrance, and the footman had brought it to the sitting room on a try, as he was wont to do.

Even the missive itself was ordinary. The ink was black and plain; the writing was even and neat. There were no great ink blots to indicate urgency in the hand of the writer, no smudges or tear-strains to adorn the distressing news. It merely requested, in polite but stern words, for Colonel R. Fitzwilliam to report to his superiors for the details of his deployment. The date of departure of his ship to the Front would be imminent.

Everything about the sequence of events was strange, in hindsight. Fey.

She should have cried. Her kerchiefs should have been soaked through as she wept her despair into the squares of cloth embroidered with her initials intertwined with her husband's. Yet her eyes were dry. Her despair was too swollen, relief would not come from such a small leak. Tears were useless.

His departure should have been more sudden. If his presence on the Continent was so essential as to tear him away from her, he should have been whisked with great expediency to his ship. But there was no swift goodbye. Instead, the days dragged on, with nothing to do but love each other in the meantime.

She wondered why her pride for him could not take up all of the room, why it could not push out her grief and distress and selfish desire for him to stay. It was so great, her pride, it should have filled every corner of her being. But it did not. For her pride was carefully constructed from love, and the man she loved was leaving.

And when he left, she took her love and her pride and her distress and she folded them away like letters in a drawer. When she had the space, the time, she would untuck these emotions from the hidden place in her heart where they were kept. But even then, tears did not come. She felt too much to cry.

oOoOoOo

[1] 'Nostalgia' was the term used by Swiss military physicians in 1678 to describe the symptoms of PTSD. They were the first to recognise how soldiers suffered during and after war. Shortly after, the Germans recognised it as 'heimweh', which means homesickness. They believed that homesickness acted as a precursor to PTSD, and the weakest soldiers succumbed to the severest forms. Similarly, when they started to recognise it later on, the French called it 'maladie du pays', which also means homesickness. The Spanish called it 'estar roto', which means 'to be broken'.

I have been rather generous with what a physician might recommend, considering that at this time the British not acknowledge that PTSD was something from which a soldier could suffer. If anything, it was simply called 'insanity'. Historically, Britain has a terrible track record when it comes to mental health. Instead, I draw on my own experiences of military friends with PTSD, and what I was able to 'notice' works (so I'm extrapolating that a military physician might have drawn the same conclusions).

[2] The Brunswick Manifesto was a proclamation issued to the citizens of Paris by Charles Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick, commander of the Allied (primarily Prussian and Austrian at the time) Army, on 25th July 1792 during the War of the First Coalition. The Manifesto threatened that if the French royal family were harmed, Allied forces would burn Paris to the ground.

[3] Declaration of Pillnitz was a statement issued on 27 August 1791, asserting the joint support of the Holy Roman Empire and of Prussia for King Louis XVI of France, against the French Revolution. It wasn't well received.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N Here is some festive fun to enjoy in this baking heat.

I listened to Tchaikovsky's Christmas Waltz from his collection The Seasons on loop while writing this because it somehow manged to capture the emotion I needed to tap into. Have a listen before you read this to put you in the mood, if you like. Or just because it's a gorgeous piece of music.

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 9** **th** **December 1794**

The Christmas season had begun, and with it came the impending loneliness Elizabeth was starting to associate with the festive time of year. Her second Christmas as a married woman was also her second Christmas without her husband. The year previous, it had been the saving grace of Jane and Lord Ponsonby which kept her sane. This year she had her dear friend Georgiana.

The young Miss Darcy had a few weeks away from school, during which she was to enjoy the usual trappings and trimmings of the holiday. Her elder brother was still in Derbyshire, overseeing the final repairs to Pemberley, and the roads between London and the north were treacherous after weeks of rain followed by a sudden cold spell. It was deemed appropriate by her family – which Elizabeth understood to mean the Earl suggested it and the Countess did not object too strongly – for Georgianna to pass the festive season with the wife of the young lady's guardian.

Elizabeth was discovering, with the help of her young friend, that the Christmas season in London was quite different to that in the country. During her childhood, she and her sisters had venture out into the cold, baskets in hand, to collect their own mistletoe and holly with which to decorate the house. They would return home with red noses and fingers stiff from the chill, their arms full of clumsily harvested greenery. They would shed their cloaks at the door and rush to Jane's bed where they would huddle together under the covers, cups of Cook's spiced posset cradled in their hands. The fire would crackle and roar, casting exotic shadows on the walls until the youngest sisters demanded Jane draw the bedcurtains to keep the monsters out.

When the girls were very young, the fruits of their trips were used only upstairs where the torn leaves and ragged cuts were not noticeable to the festive visitors. As they grew, their gatherings joined those of the servants' downstairs, adorning every mantelpiece and bannister.

Elizabeth's home in Portman Square was far from any woodland. Instead of bundling herself in a thick mantle and fur-lined muff to hunt for holly trees amongst the thickets, a maid was sent to the vendor a few streets over to purchase the festive greenery.

To make up for this, Georgiana and Elizabeth decided to decorate the house entirely by themselves.

With already green-stained aprons tied about their waists, they balanced precariously on stools and collapsed in laughter every time one took a stumble. Their eye for arrangement was slightly lacking and their precision was imperfect, though this might have been due to the wine which had been freely flowing since before lunch – in the spirit of festive extravagance, of course. The canary, Citrine, watched their antics from the perch he had created for himself on a high-backed chair, Elizabeth having let him out after the third glass of wine. Citrine would join in with cheerful chirps when the ladies broke into song, which was frequently.

Elizabeth was wobbling on one foot, reaching high as she draped a rope of plaited ribbons over a painting frame, when from the doorway a footman's voice announced,

"The Viscount Ducannon."

"John!" Elizabeth shrieked as she lost her balance and fell over in a heap. Leaping to her feet, Mrs Fitzwilliam dashed across the room to fling her arms around her dear friend. Lord Ponsonby swung her about exuberantly, narrowly missing collision with the room's other occupant.

"Oh! Georgiana, this is Richard's cousin Lord John Ponsonby, the Viscount Ducannon. Cousin, may I introduce Richard's ward, Miss Georgiana Darcy."

The new acquaintances exchanged the usual courtesies while Elizabeth rang for tea and fluttered about like an over-excited butterfly.

"You did not tell me you would be in town, you wicked man," Elizabeth griped good-naturedly as they all took a seat.

"It was a hasty decision for no other reason than I was lonely and bored. I am staying with my father – or, I should say, I will stay with him as long as I can tolerate his grumbling about my mother." Ducannon shared a commiserating look with Elizabeth.

Georgiana was nervously thumbing a kerchief in her lap and throwing anxious glances at the visitor. Though she had blossomed in Elizabeth's company, she was still exceedingly shy in nature and the unexpected intrusion had robbed her of all apparent powers of speech.

Taking pity on her young friend, Elizabeth asked the younger girl to fetch a book form her room which she desired to show to the Viscount. Left alone with her dear friend, Elizabeth took the opportunity to share some news. Her hands drifting to her stomach, she said,

"I believe I am going to have a child."

"My goodness, Elizabeth, how wonderful!" Ducannon cried, "Marvellous!" He took her hand and shook it energetically. "A little Fitzwilliam, how absolutely marvellous."

The Viscount's enthusiasm filled the room and his grin was contagious; Elizabeth's cheeks were already sore from the force of her smile.

"I spoke to my Aunt, and she believes we shall have the little one with us in the spring."

"Marvellous, absolutely marvellous. And does Richard know yet?"

Elizabeth sobered somewhat as she explained,

"I wrote him a letter a few weeks ago but I have had no reply. He warned me that there would be much less contact on this trip than the last, but I do wish to know that he received my letter."

"I'm sure he did, Elizabeth," Ducannon murmured comfortingly, "I am sure he is over the moon."

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 11** **th** **December 1794**

There was a new arrival in the house and Elizabeth was still unaccustomed to it. It stood, sleek and polished, in the room referred to by the household as the parlour, but which served the purpose of drawing room, library and, now, music room.

Even sat on the bench in front of the piano, Elizabeth could not reconcile her small home with the sheer luxury of such an instrument.

"Reviens parmi nous maintenant, Lizzy, tu dois te concentrer!" Georgiana chastised as she marked a sheet of music with her pencil.

"Oh no, Georgiana, we shall practice our French, or we shall practice our playing – we shall not do both!" Elizabeth replied. "You already torture me with your tricky fingering, but you shall not do so en francais."

"If you payed attention instead of drifting off with the faeries, your fingers would play the noted they are supposed to."

"I am just baffled, I suppose, and my mind shall not let me focus on this pianoforte until I can understand why your brother sent it here."

"Because he loves his younger sister very much and because he feels guilty about not being able spend Christmas with me," Georgiana grinned. "Besides, this came from the town house – he is replacing it with a newer instrument."

The friends were side by side on the pianoforte stool, providing Georgiana with easy opportunity to playfully shove Elizabeth with her shoulders.

"I wished to play, and there is very little my dear brother will not do for me. It would do you well to find such a relative for yourself."

"You are quite the cheeky minx these days, Miss Darcy, I am sure your brother should hardly know you! He shall certainly think a bad influence if you speak to him as you do to me."

"Oh don't be so severe, dear Lizzy, you have simply taught me how to not be a shy little mouse all the time."

"You are most certainly not a shy little mouse anymore, not in my presence alone, anyhow. You are much too bold- you are a robin! Too curious for your own good and quite belligerent to all the other birds." Elizabeth nodded her head firmly, hiding her smile behind a stern brow, "you are most certainly a little robin now. It is such a shame that your brother sent me a quiet little mouse and I have to send him back such a teasing robin. He shall be most disappointed."

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 29** **th** **January**

Dear Mrs Fitzwilliam,

I wish to thank you for your kindness in providing a wonderful home for my sister. Her letters have been filled with rapturous joy about your companionship, and I could not be more pleased that you have allowed and encourage her shy spirit to blossom. She has informed me that have also been invaluable with her practice of the French language.

Your husband once mentioned to me in a letter that you love the pianoforte but have not had the means to play one since you located to Town. It is my dearest wish that you keep the pianoforte I sent you, as a gift of gratitude.

All the best,

F. Darcy

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 7** **th** **January 1795**

There was little doubt in Elizabeth's mind now that she was indeed having a child. There was a firm swell to her stomach which could not be dismissed as a consequence of festive overindulgence, and she had cried for much longer than was warranted when Georgiana's visit ended. Her Aunt had been an invaluable help to her in preparing herself for the new arrival – Elizabeth was canny enough to put any of Mrs Bennet's unsolicited advice out of her mind as soon at it went in.

Mrs Bennet had been rapturous when Elizabeth had sent her word of the babe the previous week. Since then, letters had arrived each morning with instructions to remain all day in bed and to take a brisk walk twice a day, to drink a glass of claret before bed and to drink only tea, to consult a physician and to only trust a midwife.

Of a considerably more sedate personality than his wife, Mr Bennet had been more staid in his reaction, though he was no less overjoyed. His single letter since receiving the news of his first grandchild had been emotional, though he was sure to insist – in jest, Elizabeth assumed – that the baby be called Bennet if it was a boy, and also Bennet if it was a girl.

Elizabeth had not planned to inform her husband's parents until she was closer to the birth, aware of the tragedies which could strike between the present and the expected appearance of the young Fitzwilliam. Nonetheless, the Countess had realised quite as soon as she entered 4 Grosvenor Square for tea the previous day. After being subjected to a bout of violent embraces by the uncharacteristically affectionate Countess, Elizabeth was escorted to the Earl's study in an almost ominous fashion.

Despite her dread at the summons, the Earl was his usual amiable self as he took a seat beside her and explained that he had purchased a small estate in Yorkshire by the name of Somerford Park. The Earl was the Colonel's appointed agent in his absence and had purchased the estate in his name – it was to be a gift to his youngest son, the Earl explained, upon his return from his deployment on the Continent. [1] He had planned to wait for the end of Colonel Fitzwilliam's tour of duty before announcing the purchase, however the prospect of a child had prompted him to alert Elizabeth earlier. The Earl wished for his grandson – for the man was certain the child should be a boy – to be raised a gentleman in the country.

Upon returning to her apartments in Portman Square, the intent at the forefront of her mind was to pen a missive to her husband immediately. She knew it would ease his conscience to have them move to a country estate. Though she had always reassured him that their love was enough – she did not need a manor house or vast lands to be happy – there were moments when Colonel Fitzwilliam had felt guilty from taking her from the situation of a gentleman's daughter to that of a soldier's wife. Elizabeth, of course, had no such feelings. Despite the hardships of being a military spouse, Elizabeth was satisfied with her life and, more importantly, beyond thrilled to be Mrs Richard Fitzwilliam.

On her way to her desk to write her letter, she stopped, as she usually did, to greet Citrine the canary. To her dismay, he was not standing on the perch he typically used. Instead he was lying on the bottom of the cage, unmoving. He did not stir as she opened the cage. When she scooped him into her hands and cradled his little body, Citrine still felt warm, but Elizabeth knew.

He was dead.

END OF VOLUME I

oOoOoOo

[1] I have absolutely no idea about the legality of such a transaction. I am taking this moment to declare artistic licence.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N The much-demanded Volume II is finally here!

I have been waiting for this moment for so long, and yet it was beyond difficult to move on.

You will notice a lot of familiar material in this chapter. We will be deviating again soon, but I wanted to keep this *special* moment close to the one we know and love. Enjoy!

oOoOoOo

VOLUME II

 **Saturday 3** **rd** **September 1796**

Longbourn, the Hertfordshire home of the Bennet family, was not known for a peacefulness or a quiet atmosphere. This was especially evident the day Mrs Bennet found out that Netherfield Park had been let. The new tenant, it was rumoured, was a young man of large fortune from the north of England. Most importantly, he was unmarried.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs Bennet, "what a fine thing for our girls!"

Mr Bennet made no answer.

"It is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes."

"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, certainly, or you may send them by themselves, which will be better still."

"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood."

"It is more than I engage for, I assure you," Mr Bennet replied.

"But consider your daughters! Only think of what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general you know they visit no new comers. Indeed you must, for it will be impossible for _us_ to visit him, if you do not."

"You are over scrupulous surely. I dare say that Mr Bingley will be glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying which ever he chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Mary."

"I desire you will do no such thing. Mary is not a bit better than any of the other girls. Besides, Mary it not nearly so handsome as Jane nor half so good humoured as Lydia. Mr Bingley will certainly prefer _them_."

"They have none of them have much to recommend them," relied the gentleman. "they are all silly and ignorant like other girls. Lizzy at least has a little and some more of quickness than her sisters."

"Mr Bennet, how can you abuse your own children so? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves."

"You mistake me, my dear. I have high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have her you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least."

"Ah, you do not know how I suffer."

"But I hope you recover from it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood."

"It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come since you refuse to visit them."

"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all."

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 17** **th** **September 1796**

It had taken a significant portion of Elizabeth's willpower to make it out of the house on the evening of the assembly. Mrs Bennet had spent the day mithering that Mr Bingley would be retuning from London accompanied by twelve ladies and only seven men, until it was reported that he brought with him only five sisters and a cousin. Then the baby had gotten fussy and would not have a nap in the afternoon, so that by the time the evening drew in and the ladies of the house took to the upstairs to change, the baby was overtired and screaming. Elizabeth had managed to calm him, but was almost too fraught to finish her hair, and nearly abandoned the idea of the dance all together. It was only after Kitty appealed to her for support with their mother that Elizabeth acquiesced.

The imbalance between the sexes became obvious early on in the evening, with many more women than men available to dance. Elizabeth, content to leave the dancefloor to those in search of love, took a seat to the side of the room. As such, she was in an advantageous seat to gain an excellent view of the arrival of Mr Bingley and his party – which was considerably smaller than initially reported.

Mr Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike, and Elizabeth observed from his interactions with the local residents that he had a pleasant countenance and easy, unaffected manners. His two sisters were fine women, with an air of decided style. Elizabeth recognised the style of their outfits as those she saw in London, though they were not fashioned to the same quality as the ladies of the circles she frequented in Town.

Mr Bingley's brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, merely looked the gentleman, but it was final member of the party that drew the attention of the room, with his fine, tall person, handsome features and noble mien. From the moment he entered the assembly room, Elizabeth was sure she recognised this gentleman – there was something familiar in the curve of his cheek, in the set of his jaw, in the shape of his brows. It was only when their eyes met briefly as the gentleman surveyed the room that Elizabeth recognised his eyes as those she gazed into every day, the eyes which came from her little boy's grandfather, the Earl Fitzwilliam.

It was then that she could place him as the same gentleman as the subject of a portrait in the gallery at 4 Grosvenor Square. This was her husband's cousin, and her dear friend's brother. After years of various circumstances preventing their introduction, Mr Darcy was present in the Meryton assembly rooms.

The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity. Having heard tales of the gentleman from her husband and his family, Elizabeth watched in fascination from her seat in the corner as the capricious crowd declared Mr Darcy to be proud, above his company, and above being pleased. Not all of his large estate in Derbyshire, the room then proclaimed, could save him from having a most forbidding countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.

Mr Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal members in the room; he was lively and unreserved, dancing every dance. Mr Darcy, in stark contrast, danced only once with Mrs Hurst and one with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady and spent his time walking around the room speaking only to members of his own party.

Knowing Darcy to be, instead of proud and disagreeable, an awkward, shy and retiring man who was uncomfortable in new company – though she was less than impressed with his manners, as yet - Elizabeth did not join in with the customary gossip. She thought to wait until her husband's cousin was more settled before she asked for an introduction; in the meantime, she would ignore the dislike of the other dancers, believing that they would come to know him as a good man soon enough.

This faith did not protect her from the luckless misfortune of overhearing a conversation between Mr Bingley and his brooding friend.

"Come, Darcy," said Bingley, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

"I certainly shall not," came the unhappy response. "You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room, who it would not be a punishment for me to stand up with."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I have never met so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening, and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

" _You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.

"Oh, she is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty and, I dare say, very agreeable. Jane tells me that she is married, so she surely cannot make you uncomfortable with expectations. Do let my ask my partner to introduce you."

"Who do you mean?" and turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, "She is tolerable perhaps, but it does not speak well of her husband that she had been abandoned to the corner. Besides, I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young wives who are clearly not handsome enough to tempt their own husbands. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with mine with me."

Mr Bingley followed his advice. Mr Darcy walked off, and Elizabeth was left with her stomach churning with the heaviness of disappointment and betrayal. A man of whom it was promised to her to be the epitome of goodness and charity had stood within her earshot – and she was certain that Darcy had known this – and had spoken so shockingly of her. Worse than that, he had disparaged the good name of her husband, the best man she had ever known.

Swiping her drink from the table next to her, Elizabeth strode after Mr Darcy, her mind sharp with the clarity of rage at such an insult to the Colonel. Elizabeth took a position next to him and said in her sweetest, clearest voice,

"I do not believe we have been introduced."

Mr Darcy offered only a look of contempt from the corner of his eye as he turned away from her pointedly, confirming,

"No, we have not."

Undeterred, Elizabeth moved so he was once again facing her, before continuing,

"And I thought it was such a shame, _cousin_ , as I have not spoken to the Earl in a little while I thought to ask after his health."

It was almost humorous, Elizabeth would later muse, how wide Darcy's eyes became in that moment. He caught his jaw just a moment before his mouth fell open; despite managing to keep his mouth closed his face his slackened with shock.

"M- m- my God, Mrs Fitzwilliam?" he stuttered.

Elizabeth curtsied.

"Indeed."

A deep blush spread across Mr Darcy's nose and rose blotchily in his cheeks as he searched – and failed to find – an appropriate response.

"So how is the Earl?" Elizabeth pressed.

"He is well. Yes, very well. As is Aunt Charlotte. She is… well."

Darcy winced.

"I am very glad to hear it." Elizabeth lost some of the pointed abruptness in her voice as she asked, "And how is Georgiana? I received a letter from her yesterday, but she made not mention of _that_. I do not know if she is truly feeling better or is she is merely trying to protect me."

"You are correct to be concerned," Darcy replied, "she has been little herself the past few months – she will hardly say a word on the matter to me, either."

"At least she is back home at Pemberley, I am sure that shall bring her some peace."

Elizabeth curtsied to excuse herself, but as she turned away a hand on her arm stayed her for a moment.

"Mrs Fitzwilliam, I did not say this before, but I am truly sorry for your loss."

The deep grief that flashed in Mr Darcy's eyes for a moment was so strikingly familiar that Elizabeth had to look away. She saw the same hollowness in the mirror every morning; she felt it in her chest each night before she went to sleep.

"Thank you. But Darcy, I advise to you temper your ill manners next time someone suggests you ask me to dance. As you might have guessed, I am quite sensitive to the suggestion of abandonment."

With that parting comment, Elizabeth left Mr Darcy to his embarrassment as she joined her family at the other end of the room.

oOoOoOo

The evening passed off pleasantly to the whole family, Mrs Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party. Mr Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this, though in a quieter way than her mother. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley a the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood; Kitty and Lydia had been fortunate to be never without dance partners, which was all that they had yet learned to cared about in a ball.

Elizabeth felt Jane's pleasure at being so singled out for attention by the handsome new neighbour. She was also gratified to have met Fitzwilliam Darcy – her husband's cousin, her step-ward's brother and her occasional correspondent over the previous few years. And yet she was disappointed in him for introducing himself to the neighbourhood in such a rude, disagreeable manner. She was still angry over the way he spoke about the Colonel, however unknowingly.

The party returned in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they were the principle inhabitants. They found Mr Bennet still up. With a book he was regardless of time; on the present occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife's views on the stranger would be disappointed, but she soon found that he had a very different story to hear.

"Oh! My dear Mr Bennet," as she entered the room, "we have had the most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there – Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked, and Mr Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and she was the only creature in the room that he asked to dance a second time. First of all he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her, however he did not admire her at all; indeed nobody can you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So, he enquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then, the two third he danced with Miss King, then the two fourth he danced with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the boulanger-"

"If he had any compassion for _me_ ," cried her husband impatiently, "he would not have danced half so much! For God's sake, say not more of his partners. Oh that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!"

"Oh my dear," continued Mrs Bennet, "I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome, and his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant that their dresses. I dare say that the lace upon Mrs Hurst's gown-"

Here she was interrupted again. Mr Bennet protested against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration. The shocking rudeness of Mr Darcy.

"He had not the courtesy to dance with any lady than those among his party, and when he did not dance he walked around with the utmost distain in the way he looked down his nose," she complained, "Lizzy tells me that he is a cousin of our dear Fitzwilliam, but I cannot see it, for he was a charming, jovial spirit, and Mr Darcy had none of his amiability. So high and conceited, there was no enduring him!"

oOoOoOo


	23. Chapter 23

A/N I loved your reviews for the last chapter. Don't worry, all the blanks will be filled in and all of your questions will be answered. Lots of you didn't notice one of the biggest clues I gave you – go and check the dates from the last few chapters. To those that doubt me or think that what you read so far doesn't make sense – you don't know everything yet. I do. Hang in there. In the meantime, feel free to keep debating with each other in reviews, hearing your (usually wrong hehe) theories is making me smile.

Real is life is going to be crazy for the next few weeks, so I don't know when the next chapter will be ready, so I've written you a longer one this time to make up for it.

For now, we are off with a… bang.

oOoOoOo

 **Saturday 18** **th** **September 1796**

The morning after the ball found Elizabeth upstairs with the baby. As usual, the post-assembly dissection of events had already occurred, and their visitors had left – undoubtably to spread the news that Mr Darcy was a relative of their dear Mrs Fitzwilliam, through her late husband. More importantly, it was firmly decided that Jane was a favourite of Mr Bingley, and as such the appropriate presumptions could be made about their future.

Though she appreciated the liveliness of her sisters and friends, Elizabeth was grateful for the excuse to retreat to the nursery. It had been a very long time since she had lived with such energy, and there were moments she missed the solitude of her estate in Yorkshire. Somerford Park had been her refuge after she had received news of the Colonel's death on that miserable January morning. She had escaped north out of London, away from those with pitying eyes and empty condolences, and hid herself away, alone.

She had made a simple cross of stones in the earth, at the heart of the bleak and lifeless rose garden, and each day her tears watered the cold, hard ground as she knelt in the dirt. And as the winter faded and the rose bushed grew green-tipped and lush, it became harder to sink to her knees as the babe in her belly bloomed with the spring.

Elizabeth was almost alone when the child came. She had the midwife, of course, and the housekeeper, to hold her hand as she screamed and take away the bedlinen once it was done. Other than the servants, there was only one person on the estate to keep her company.

John Ponsonby had turned up at Somerford Park out of the blue, the month prior to the birth. Alarmed at reports of Elizabeth cutting off contact with everyone in her life, he had packed his trunks and made the long journey to Yorkshire. Elizabeth was as a sister to him, and he felt he could no longer leave her to face her grief alone.

Elizabeth had been less than impressed. In fact, through her anger she had almost turned him away. But the hour had grown late and the inns nearby were none of them known for their cleanliness, so she had made him a room for the night – after demanding that he leave at first light.

John Ponsonby did not leave.

Instead, he gathered her to his chest each time she raged at him, at Richard, at God. He stroked her hair each time she sobbed so hard she made herself sick with the anguish. He sat quietly in the chair by her bedside each time the weight of her grief kept her trapped under the covers.

John Ponsonby did not leave. Because of this, he was the first person after Elizabeth to hold the tiny new life she had brought into the world. Because of this, little John Richard Fitzwilliam earned the most devoted godfather in the world.

Two months after little John's birth, the Viscount Duncannon returned to his estate, and Elizabeth was left to her solitude again. This time, however, she was not trapped in an impassable storm of grief. This time, her solitude allowed to reflect, and to remember; to love the life she built with her husband, and to start to let it go.

Elizabeth remained alone for many months after the babe arrived, and even after a year and a half, she still gasped for moments alone when the grief would catch her out of the blue. Even when she did not _need_ it, her times alone with little John were still the most important parts of her day.

It was while she was enjoying the peacefulness of watching her son sleep that Elizabeth was interrupted by a knock at the door. Her visitor explained that Mr Bennet had allowed him to be sent upstairs, and the maid had shown him the way. He asked if he may take a seat, though he added that he could quite as easily stay standing.

"What is it you want, Mr Darcy?" Elizabeth sighed, in no particular mood to accommodate the gentleman after his behaviour the night before.

"I wished to offer you my deepest apologies for my rudeness last night, at the assembly. My behaviour was unpardonable, and I must beg my forgiveness."

"I shall forgive you, Mr Darcy, if you answer me one question."

"Anything."

"Why are you here, sir?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why are you here? Why have you decided I am owed an apology?"

"Because I was dreadfully rude to you," replied Mr Darcy, confused.

"Indeed you were. That does not explain why you came here to apologise."

Mr Darcy struggled for an answer, not because he did not understand the question, but because he understood the implication.

"You decided that I was _worth_ an apology, did you not? As your cousin's widow, as the mother of your uncle the Earl's grandson, I deserved an apology. Tell me, Mr Darcy, would you be here if I had been some solicitor's widow? Or if I was been the poor, neglected wife you had imagined me to be?"

Mr Darcy's face pinched with distaste as a mask of haughty grandeur fell across his expression.

"From the venom in your voice I am sure you do not really wish me to answer, Mrs Fitzwilliam."

"But you do not see anything wrong with that?"

"Indeed I do not. It is the nature of our society that some may be more deserving of my condescension than other."

"Your condescension perhaps, but your courtesy and civility? You were abominably rude to me, and insulting to my husband. No woman – no person – has so little worth that you should not have found a little kindness under all of that pride to at least have some manners."

"I do beg your pardon, madam!"

Mr Darcy's complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips until he believed himself to have attained it. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,

"You speak of civility, yet you hurl such accusations at me with ugly discourtesy."

"I do not believe I spoke with any incivility, only truth. But it seems I cannot expect you reflect upon your own behaviour when you view the world only through the lens of your superiority."

"And this," Darcy cried as he paced with quick steps across the room, "is your opinion of for!"

"Indeed it is not," Elizabeth interrupted him. "I know you to be a good brother, a generous landlord and moral person. In this instance I do not judge _you,_ but your _behaviour_. You cannot expect to be seen as the man you are and the man you wish to be, when you hide your value under a thick veil of pride and conceit."

She paused, and saw with little surprise – though considerable disappointment – that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse.

"It is such a shame that you acted as you did last night," Elizabeth sighed. "You could be much respected in this neighbourhood had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner."

Elizabeth saw him start at this. As she turned away to sooth the baby who had been disturbed awake by the commotion, she caught Mr Darcy's expression fall in mingled incredulity and mortification.

"You have said quite enough, madam. I have taken up enough of your time, I shall let you return to John. I-"

Whatever he meant to add, Darcy found not the words to express it, so he merely nodded abruptly and hastily quite the room.

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 29** **th** **September, 1796**

The ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. This visit was returned in due form. Much to Elizabeth's amusement, she quickly realised that Miss Bingley had not yet been brought up to date with the local gossip. Caroline Bingley knew not that Elizabeth was the daughter-in-law of an earl, nor even that she was the widow of Mr Darcy's cousin. The woman's prejudices did not allow her to make any connection between Mrs Fitzwilliam's name and any member of the peerage. Seeing her only as a young woman of little style and taste, Miss Bingley showed a marked dislike for Elizabeth's unconventional opinions and outspokenness.

Nevertheless, Jane was a favourite of Mrs Hurst and her sister, and Jane refused to visit without _her_ sister – having spent several years apart from each other, both resolved to make the most of living together while it lasted. As such, when a footman interrupted breakfast to bring a note for Miss Bennet, she automatically included Elizabeth in the invitation.

"My dear Friend,

"If you re not so compassionate as to come for tea today with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating one another for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tete-a-tete between two young women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen have formed a shooting party for the day, so we shall be left quite alone. Yours ever,

"Caroline Bingley."

The elder Bennet sisters rode to Netherfield together – Jane on one of the family's animals and Elizabeth on her faithful Arion, who was still with her. The gentleman were long gone by the time they had arrived, so they were received only by the ladies of the household.

The visit began as pleasantly as ever, with the prerequisite observations about the weather – the cloud were awfully heavily and surely meant rain by the end of the day – and a discussion of their neighbours – Mrs Long was quite peaky when they lasted visited, and they hoped she had not fallen ill. Between the refilling of cups and the nibbling of fine French pastries, Miss Bingley – and occasionally Mrs Hurst, though not nearly so prolifically – directed subtle digs and snide comments at Elizabeth. Mrs Fitzwilliam took each remark with a graceful smile, as though she did not detect the distain.

"It must have been trying to be widowed at such a young age," Miss Bingley observed, "Though I suppose it allows you the opportunity to remarry – and by returning home, you might hope to marry better this time." Her smile was sharp. "One must see the silver linings in such tragic events."

The corner of Elizabeth's mouth curled up as she took a sip from her tea.

"Indeed it was quite awful to lose my husband; we loved each other very much. I wish we could have had longer together," she replied. "Of course you are correct, we must remember to see the bright side. My father-in-law, the Lord Fitzwilliam, has been most kind to me, as has my son's godfather, the Viscount Duncannon."

Elizabeth's smile grew as she saw the cup and saucer in Miss Bingely's hand rattle. Mrs Hurst's jaw fell.

"And I am not returned to Longbourn permanently; I shall be returning to my estate in Yorkshire after the New Year."

When Miss Bingley called for more cakes to be brought for Mrs Fitzwilliam in case she should like to try something different, she did not comment. She did, however, mention that her taste in confectionary was quite particular, having come to enjoy those served by Lady Charlotte, her mother-in-law, while she resided in London. And, as she was sure Mis Bingley knew, Lady Charlotte has the most discerning palette, as the daughter of Lord Ponsonby, the Earl of Bessborough.

After she had made her point, Elizabeth was content to sit back and let Jane carry the conversation. The demure blonde must learn to get along with the shrews if she truly wished to be married to their brother, as seemed likely, Elizabeth mused, not that Jane had ever quarrelled with anybody.

Miss Bingley had just suggested they remove to the music room to take turns exhibiting their talents on the pianoforte, having finished the tea and polished off the pastries, when a commotion could be heard from outside the window. Sauntering across the room to investigate the racket, Caroline's face suddenly drained of all colour, and she gripped at the windowsill as her knees appeared to lose their strength.

"Louisa," she gasped, "Louisa!"

The other women rushed to the window, Mrs Hurst helping her sister into a chair before she collapsed. From the little the ladies could see from their position, the shooting party had returned early. Even at a distance, Elizabeth could see distress in the determined movements of the men. One man was draped over several others, some of whom were stained with red. There had been an accident; somebody was hurt.

The Bingleys clutched at each other while Jane fussed around them, her anguish at the sisters' worried second only to her pain for the injured man. Elizabeth knew she could leave Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst in the capable hands of compassionate Jane. She was needed elsewhere.

oOoOoOo

Elizabeth caught up to the shooting party as they collected in the grand entrance hall.

"Let me through, let me though," she demanded as she pushed into the crowd, unafraid of deploying a sharp elbow to clear her path. "Put him down here, put him on the floor." The gentlemen on either side of the injured man immediately protested, but she issued her command again, so sternly that they were startled into obeying.

"Mr Goulding, through that doorway is a parlour," Elizabeth gestured behind him, "take several cushions from the chairs. Bring them here. Now!" she shouted when Goulding hesitated.

"Mr Hurst, I need water. Find the housekeeper, or a maid – have them bring me a jug of water and clean sheets."

"Mrs Fitzwilliam, really, I do not think you should be here. We will get him to a bed and call a physician and the local apothecary, they will be competent enough to sort this…"

"Do you know how I met your cousin, Mr Darcy? Doing this," she growled from between gritted teeth, tucking the cushions collected by Mrs Goulding under Bingley's head and leg. "Give me your belt." [1]

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Mr Darcy, either give me your belt, or leave. Mr Bingley will be lucky if he does not lose his leg, I will not let him die because you refused to be helpful." The injured man groaned, his eyes clouded with pain. "That is it, Mr Bingley, make noises for me, keep making noises for me." Snatching Darcy's belt from his outstretched arms, she quickly looped it around Mr Bingley's leg and pulled it until the leg was constricted, causing the man to hiss in agony.

"I'm sorry, Mr Bingley, now is not a time I can be gentle. Darcy, I need you to hold this tight." Mr Darcy knelt by his friend's side, grasping the end of the belt as Elizabeth showed him and holding it so Bingley's led was painfully bound.

The water and linens had arrived, and with them Caroline, Louisa and Jane.

"Charles, oh Charles," Miss Bingley fell onto her brother, sobbing.

"Miss Bingley, I need you to move away from him, can you do that for me?" The hysterical women shook her head frantically. "Miss Bingley, you can hold his hand as tight as you like, but I need you to get off his chest." With the help of Mrs Hurst and Jane, Miss Bingley was shifted away, though she immediately grabbed Bingley's hand desperately.

"See if you can get him talking," Elizabeth instructed Darcy, nodding her head at his friend. "Try to keep him conscious." Stunned by her forcefulness, he capitulated, leaving Elizabeth to assess Mr Bingley's leg. It was a gruesome sight.

Just below his knee, the side of his calf was a bloody mess. Further elevating it, she began to carefully wash the wound, tearing away what remained of his breeches. As accurately as she could tell in such a rush, the wound had been caused by a musket ball. Its deadly path had stripped away flesh, but she could not feel any broken bone, and her examination had not revealed any shrapnel. Elizabeth quickly folded up a clean sheet, packing it into the wound.

"Mr Long, quickly, hold this to Mr Bingley's injury," she called to the large man who had been standing to the side of the room, somewhat superfluous. She instructed him to press on the wound, then she asked Darcy to loosen the belt slightly. "We want to try to save his leg."

All the while, Mr Bingley had been groaning incoherently, but Elizabeth had been encouraged by the noise – he had not yet lost consciousness, and she watched his chest rise and fall out of the corner of his eye. On one side of him, Caroline was clutching his hand and sobbing, on the other Jane was gently stroking his hair and whispering comfortingly. Eventually, Mr Bingley's condition had stabilised enough to move him to his room: a wooden board was found to lift him on to, and he was carried upstairs by footmen, Mr Long accompanying him, still pressing the wound to stem the bleeding. Mr Darcy and Mr Hurst followed, leaving the rest of the shooting party to mill about, as Elizabeth wiped her bloody hands on her ruined dress.

In due course, the physician arrived, then the apothecary. One by one the members of the shoot returned to their homes – each expressed their sympathies with Bingley, then left Netherfield whole and mostly unbloodied.

The Bingley sisters were called upstairs. Jane asked for a cup of tea, whenever a maid could be spared from the master. Elizabeth attempted to scrape the blood from under her nails.

It was several hours before a member of the household emerged again. By this time, Elizabeth was no longer in her red-stained dress; Jane had washed the tear tracks from her face. Mr Darcy found them sat side by side, Elizabeth in a borrowed, ill-fitting outfit found by a maid, Jane with a handkerchief clutched between her fingers.

"As long as infection does not set in, Mr Bingley should not lose his leg," he informed them. Jane's shoulders slumped in relief. "In fact, the wound has been closed – once the bleeding was stopped, the injury was manageable."

"I am glad. Now that we know is he alright, we should return home. We would be most grateful if you could call carriage for us, or send a message to Longbourn to collect us." Mr Darcy nodded sharply and moved to exit the room, but paused in the doorway for a moment.

"I would be most appreciative it- that is to say, if you would be so obliging- if I may be allowed, could I visit my young cousin? I should like to meet him properly."

"You are most welcome to meet John, Mr Darcy. We shall look forward to receiving you. In the meantime, please pass on by best wishes for Mr Bingley's health and recovery."

oOoOoOo

[1] I tried researching the history of belts, but could not verify that Mr Darcy might be wearing one. Belts, in one form or another, have been worn for thousands of years, and as such their popularity has waxed and waned with the times. During the period of this story, it seems they were mostly a military uniform accessory… but as I have found not definitive source telling me Darcy wouldn't have worn one, I'm using my artistic licence to save Bingley's life. I think that is a worthy enough cause.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N I am so sorry for the long delay in getting this to you. In the past few months I have been crazily busy with life, including but not limited to acting in a theatre production, giving a TEDx talk, joining an improv troupe and studying for my degree. Thanks for waiting so patiently (and not so patiently) for me to find a spare moment.

In response to the reviews saying I have butchered Darcy's character and turned him into Lady Catherine – again, give me some time. Volume II is going to be just as long as Vol. I, which means deep character exploration and some hidden motives. I know stuff you don't. Wait for me to fill in the gaps.

A note on condescension – I use it in the historically appropriate sense, not the modern one. Condescension during this period did not mean disdainful superciliousness, it meant to be kind to those socially inferior to oneself. To quote the History News Network, condescension was the "ability of someone of higher class to communicate with his inferiors by carefully lowering his demeanor in a way that suggested a meeting of spirits without suggesting equality". Condescension was a politically positive characteristic. In fact, despite Collins lauding Lady C as condescending, she is _not_ condescending – there was no "meeting of spirits". So in the last chapter when Darcy speaks of not being condescending to everyone, he is saying that he doesn't owe everyone beneath him kindness. While we might disagree, Austen's Darcy is certainly not kind to everyone, just polite (and sometimes not even that – "I'd sooner call her mother a wit.").

Finally, Merry Christmas! Here's a longer-than-usual present from me x

oOoOoOo

 **Wednesday 5** **th** **October 1976**

The morning was unseasonably bright, and as such the younger Bennet sisters had left early to visit their dear friend Maria Lucas. Mary was tucked away upstairs practicing the pianoforte with her usual solemnity and focus. Mrs Bennet was suffering from a fit of the nerves, and had yet to be seen downstairs, so effective was the tincture prescribed by the apothecary to calm her. As Mr Bennet was presently in Meryton attending to business, this left only Miss Bennet and Mrs Fitzwilliam in the parlour to receive their guest as he was announced.

"Ma'am, Miss," the footman bowed, "Mr Darcy."

"Very good, Harvey, do send us up some tea," Jane requested softly.

Mr Darcy took a seat slowly. He wore his tentativeness uncomfortably, as though it little suited him; his features were much better matched to distant apathy and soberness than the uncertain wince he wore.

After the usual pleasantries during which tea was served, Jane enquired after news of Mr Bingley.

"He is well, Miss Bennet, all thanks to your sister. The physician has acknowledged that without Mrs Fitzwilliam's swift actions, Bingley's prognosis would not be nearly so fortunate." Darcy raised his teacup in a salute to Elizabeth. "As it is, the poor chap shall be confined to bed for many weeks, but he should not lose the leg."

"I am so glad to hear it," Jane replied, "we have all been dreadfully worried for him. Please, let him know that he is in our prayers."

"I shall gladly pass on such sentiments. And I must heartily thank the both of you for your courage after the accident – I am sure many a young woman would have been faint at the sight."

Jane blushed. Elizabeth smirked.

"Come Darcy, from all you have heard and yet known of me, you cannot still think me a shrinking violet."

Mr Darcy shook his head wryly and admitted,

"Though your established character makes your actions no less commendable, I cannot say that my image of you ever resembled that of a shrinking violet." An expression of thoughtful reminiscence crossed his face as he recalled, "I remember Richard describing you a letter – it must have been shortly before your marriage – as- now what was it?- a firecracker. Your forcefulness, I remember, was what he loved about you."

Elizabeth smiled through the pain in her chest.

"If it is not too much trouble, Mrs Fitzwilliam, I should like to meet my young cousin. Properly, this time."

In due course the tea was enjoyed, then cleared away, and John was brought down from the nursery. It was immediately obvious that Mr Darcy had little experience with small children. Endearingly, this did not stop the man from trying.

"Good day to you, master John," he greeted as the child was placed in his lap. John took his thumb out of his mouth.

"Hello." He tugged on a lock of his curly brown hair and then put his thumb back in his mouth.

"This is your Cousin Darcy, John," Elizabeth introduced. John waved with his unoccupied hand.

"He certainly has Richard's colouring, and he shall grow to be a very handsome fellow, I am sure - his features more greatly resemble yours than his father's," Darcy observed to Elizabeth.

"Apart from his eyes."

"Ah yes, he has the Fitzwilliam eyes."

"Your eyes, unless I am much mistaken."

"Indeed they are. I have them from my mother, as young John must have them from his grandfather."

John, now bored with his perusal of the unfamiliar gentleman, turned to Jane and flashed a wide, gap-filled grin.

"Biscuit, please." His enamoured aunt was quick to supply a sugar biscuit to the little boy. Mr Darcy could not hold back his smile.

"He's inherited all of his father's charm as well, I can see."

Elizabeth laughed, "I worry for the ladies, when he is grown."

John giggled and raised both arms, still clutching the biscuit, now damp from the sucking. "Big boy!" he declared.

"Yes you are, cousin," Darcy affirmed, pointing to the copse of trees visible through the window, "and soon you shall be quite as tall as that oak tree."

oOoOoOo

 **Thursday 3** **rd** **November 1796**

As had happened on several occasions, Jane received an invitation to call upon the ladies of Netherfield. Finding themselves much distressed by the events of their brother's accident, it seemed Caroline and Louisa were comforted by Jane's gentle nature and soothing company, and a friendship had been struck up between the young women. As the ground was quite damp from recent weather, she rode to the neighbouring manor to avoid the rain. Much to Jane's misfortune, however, the rain had not passed as she thought, and she was caught in a sudden downpour just a mile from Netherfield. Though she tried to brush off the Bingley sister's concern, within an hour of arriving, Jane had a headache and fever, but the rain continued to beat down for rest of the afternoon and evening – she had no option but to take to bed at Netherfield.

The next morning Jane felt no better. The apothecary was sent for and a note was delivered to Longbourn. Elizabeth, cognisant of the dangers of a seemingly trifling cold, was anxious. She determined to go to her sister, but the carriage was not to be had and Arion was lame after throwing a shoe. Her only option was too walk.

The journey was three miles, a distance which Elizabeth declared was nothing when one had a motive. She crossed field after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles with impatient activity, and found herself at last within view of the house, with weary ankles, dirty stockings, and a face glowing with the warmth of exercise.

She was shown into the breakfast-parlour, where all but Jane and Mr Bingley were assembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise. That she should have walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt for it. She was received, however, very politely by them. In fact, she thought she might detect something better than politeness in Mrs Hurst's manner, as there had been since the day of Mr Bingley's accident. Whether this was because of her actions to save Bingley's leg or the revelation that she was related by marriage to an Earl, Elizabeth could not say. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.

Her inquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her immediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving alarm or inconvenience from expressing in her note how much she longed for such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal, however, to much conversation, and when Miss Bingley left them together, could attempt little besides expressions of gratitude for the extraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended her. When breakfast was over they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth almost began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it; advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment; nor were the other ladies often absent – Bingley, though staying in his quarters, had household business to conduct, and the other gentlemen were occupied elsewhere.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern in parting with her, that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer of the chaise to an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was dispatched to Longbourn to acquaint the family with her stay and bring back a supply of clothes.

oOoOoOo

At five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To her delight, she found that Mr Bingley had been helped downstairs to join them, and greeted him gladly. To the civil inquiries which then poured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley's, she could not make a very favourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill themselves, and then thought no more of the matter. Their indifference towards Jane when not immediately before them restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her former dislike. Their brother, on the other hand, she could regard with some complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to herself most pleasing, and they prevented her feeling herself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the others. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was engrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister scarcely less so. As for Mr. Hurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and play at cards; who, when he found her to prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.

After the meal the young ladies returned to Jane's side, and the sisters sat with her till summoned to coffee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all, till late in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her sleep, and when it seemed to her that the company of the gentlemen - and if she was being optimistic, the ladies' - would be more rewarding than staying upstairs.

Mr Bingley was reclined on a chaise long with the pumped cushions behind him and a blanket over his knees. His injured leg was elevated on a stool; Elizabeth would stand for no less. The rest of the company was spread about the room. Mr Darcy had taken up residence at the writing desk, and Miss Bingley had chosen a seat of a felicitous distance from him such that she could make commendations to her desired conversation partner while still observing the room down the uncommonly straight bridge of her nose.

Showing uncharacteristic patience, Mr Darcy politely replied to the most demanding of her comments, while ignoring those he could, as he penned his letter to Georgianna.

"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."

"I have already told her so once, by your desire."

"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."

"Thank you, but I always mend my own."

"How can you contrive to write so even?"

He was silent.

"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's."

"Will you give me leave to defer you raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice."

Here Elizabeth was able to offer her services.

"If you wish, I could pass your thoughtful remarks onto Georgianna in my letter – it is almost complete and shall be sent off as soon as I am home."

In the most shocking display of ill-manners Elizabeth had yet seen from Miss Bingley, the other lady laughed harshly and drew her face into a sharp expression which would surely be a sneer if the lady was not so well-bred.

"What reason should you have to write to Miss Darcy?"

Elizabeth's voice grew cold.

"Before his death, my husband was Miss Darcy's guardian. As such, I am her correspondent in all feminine matters."

Seemingly determined not to let her grievance pass, Miss Bingley turned to Mr Darcy and remarked,

"Surely Georgiana would be better advised by your aunt the Countess, or by your cousin Lady Albreda?"

"Indeed not, Miss Bingley," Mr Darcy's voice was as chilled as Elizabeth's had been. "Mrs Fitzwilliam has been a valuable companion and correspondent of Georgiana for several years. There is no one I would trust more with my sister."

Darcy caught Elizabeth's eye and nodded slightly, then returned to his letter. Miss Bingley stewed in her indignation for some time. With a tendency towards resentment, Caroline still struggled with Elizabeth's relation to the aristocracy. Having never met Colonel Fitzwilliam, she failed to understand how a member of Mr Darcy's family could have married a woman with such an unbearable mother and father, ridiculous younger sisters and relatives in Cheapside; Miss Bingley failed to see how any man could wish to marry a girl who showed such an abominable sort of conceited independence as to traipse about the countryside alone, ankle deep in mud, dirtying her petticoat and ruining her hair. Her distain was held in check most of the time, but her temper was rising as saw Darcy watching Mrs Fitzwilliam more and more. He professed admiration for her "fine eyes" and did not seem to mind her wild appearance that morning – Miss Bingley was both baffled and frustrated with his myopia.

There was some discussion of beginning a game of loo, and the offer to play was extended to Elizabeth but, suspecting they would be playing high, she declined and said she would amuse herself with a novel instead. Mr Hurst look looked at her with astonishment.

"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "that is rather singular."

"Mrs Fitzwilliam," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else."

"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried Elizabeth. "I am by no means a great reader, and though I enjoy a good book, I have pleasure in many things."

"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure," said Bingley, "and I hope it will be soon increased by seeing her quite well." Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards the table where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her others—all that his library afforded. "And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever looked into."

Elizabeth assure him that she could suit herself quite perfectly with those in the room, and continued to look for something to catch her fancy. In her perusal of the room, she spotted a familiar book on the shelf. It was the gilt font which caught her eye – it matched the book covers from the collection at Pemberley.

"You brought books with you for your stay?" she asked Mr Darcy.

His eyes smiled, and if she looked close enough Elizabeth thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch up.

"I did. Bingley can be relied upon to have a shockingly deficient collection of books, and I did not have high hopes for the library here," Darcy shrugged effortlessly, "how did you know?"

"Because I would recognise that volume of Plutarch anywhere. When I was at Pemberley last year, I spent the evenings curled up that book while Georgiana was practicing her instrument of choice that day."

"You have visited Pemberley, Mrs Fitzwilliam?"

Elizabeth barely spared Miss Bingley a glance as she commented "Is that so surprising?"

"And what were your thoughts on it? I cannot say I have heard a lady's interpretation of the Ship of Theseus."

"I found myself less interested in the debate itself and more in the parallels which can be drawn with society."

The intrigued expression on Mr Darcy's face was too much for Miss Bingley. She enquired as to the nature of the 'ship of Theseus', though she noted that reading Plutarch was surely an inappropriate pastime for a gentlewoman. Her companions ignored her second comment.

"It is a philosophical though experiment about identity," Mr Darcy explained. "We are presented with a ship which is leaving port. As it makes its voyage across the sea, parts become damaged or rotted, and one by one the planks of the ship are swapped out for the spares which were carried for journey. Piece by piece, all of the planks and masts are swapped until, by the time it sails into the next port, there is not a single part of the ship that was there when it set sail.

"The question is – is it the same ship at the end of the voyage that it was at the beginning?"

"Well I don't know who would want to spend their time thinking about such hypothetical nonsense," Mis Bingley commented.

"As it happens, Mrs Fitzwilliam and I do," Mr Darcy reprimanded. "Now, Mrs Fitzwilliam, I wish to hear your thoughts on how to argument reflects on society, as you suggested."

"It is quite simple, really. What is an aristocracy but a living embodiment of the spaciotemporal continuity principle? The peerage is the Ship of Theseus. The parts are swapped out – that it, circumstances change and the holder of the title changes, but the peerage and title remain intact. The father will die, the son will inherit, yet the title remains as the same entity."

"I had not considered such uses of the debate of identity," Darcy considered , "to what do we who such a title of identity? Can a construct of society such as a title be regarded with the same lens through which we argue the continuity of spirit?"

"Oh! Come now, my good man," Mr Bingley interrupted fervently, "there is no need for such deep thought at this moment! Save your solemn debates for the salon, or at least until your company has had enough drink as to distract them, a game of cards should be a bit of fun, not the precursor to an existential calamity!"

Elizabeth was so much caught with what passed, as to leave her very little attention for her book; and soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near the card-table which had been placed close enough to Bingley to allow him to play, and stationed herself between said gentleman and his eldest sister to observe the game.

"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley, "will she be as tall as I am?"

"I think she will. She is now about Mrs Fitzwilliam's height, or rather taller."

"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite."

"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."

"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"

"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."

"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."

"Nor I, I am sure,' said Miss Bingley.

"Then," observed Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman."

"Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it."

"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved."

"All this she must possess," added Darcy, as he caught Elizabeth's gaze and glanced down to the volume of Plutarch, the twinkle in his eye belying his sombre mien, "and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

oOoOoOo


	25. Chapter 25

A/N Given my feelings about his manner during his proposal, I have taken quite a delight in making Mr Collins as clueless as possible.

This story is unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own. Thank you to those that pointed out the last chapter was riddled with them, I shall go back at some point to do a full edit, but I thought for now I would focus what little time I have for writing on progressing the story.

As always, so you so much for your reviews and feedback. Also, welcome all new readers, there were quite a few of you over the Christmas period. Please keep favouriting and reviewing! Enjoy x

oOoOoOo

 **Friday 11** **th** **November 1796**

Elizabeth had remained at Netherfield only until the next morning, assured of her son's good care with her family but missing him nonetheless. Jane's fever had broken during the night, and Elizabeth was content to leave her to tender affections of the Netherfield party, though she promised to visit each day until her elder sister was able to return home. On one such visit she was accompanied by Miss Charlotte Lucas, a dear friend to both the eldest Bennet girls, and as such was granted a valuable second opinion on the suspicions which had been brewing all week.

Mr Bingley was nurturing tender feelings for her sister. Of that much she was certain. To Elizabeth, it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a way to be very much in love. But she was concerned that this regard would not be obvious to others, since Jane united, with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of manner which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent.

Elizabeth mentioned this to Miss Lucas during a large gathering at Lucas Lodge.

"It is sometimes a disadvantage," Charlotte observed, "to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all _begin_ freely - a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a woman had better show _more_ affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."

"But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too."

"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do."

"But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out."

"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. Their interaction of late has been a happy coincidence, born of her illness and his present immobility. Now that she has returned to Longbourn, she cannot see him often – he surely shall not dance for months, and I am certain his leg should not tolerate a carriage-ride for some time, so he cannot call on her. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour which she can spend in his company. She _must_ command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses."

"Your plan is a good one," replied Elizabeth, "where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if one were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say one should adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard nor of its reasonableness. She has not known him for long, nor spend any significant time in his company. She has danced four dances with him before the accident, dined together thrice and have seen each other at Netherfield when their ailments eased enough for their paths to cross. This is not quite enough to allow her to understand his character."

"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."

"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself. I certainly did not. I knew quite enough of my Fitzwilliam's defects to know that I should love him regardless."

Engrossed in her conversation with Miss Lucas, Elizabeth had not noticed the gentleman across the room whose eyes seemed drawn to her – each time he looked away, his gaze somehow returned. He was powerless to stop it.

Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the ball. When they next met, he was wholly occupied with more important matters, pertaining to their mutual relations and mutual grief. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself that she hardly had a good feature in her face – and that her beauty was of little importance anyway - than he began to find her countenance rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. He acknowledged her figure to be light and pleasing, bearing all the softness of a mother and all the strength of an active woman. Her manners were easy and playful, her mind was sharp and her tongue was quick to both cut and comfort, as needed. To these discoveries succeeded one quite mortifying: he had not confined himself to learning how his cousin had fallen in love with such an unconventional woman, and instead found himself getting lost in her fine eyes.

Troubled by this discovery but unable pull himself away, Mr Darcy attended to Elizabeth's conversations without the clarity of mind to speak himself. Having grown accustomed to the man expressing his opinions to her, despite his often withdrawn nature, his silence drew Elizabeth's notice.

"What does Mr. Darcy mean," she wondered aloud, "by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster without contributing?"

"That", replied Charlotte, "is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer."

On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such a subject to him; which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she turned to him and said:

"Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?"

"With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic."

"You are severe on us."

"It will be _her_ turn soon to be teased," said Miss Lucas. "I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."

"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! Always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers. I am perfectly happy to keep my love of the instrument to myself."

On Miss Lucas's persevering, however, she added, "Very well, if it must be so, it must." And gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, "There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with: 'keep your breath to cool your porridge' and I shall keep mine to swell my song."

Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display.

Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.

Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at the turn of the evening. He had been chivvied out of the door by Binlgey, who felt he was falling back into reclusive habits, and what better way to pass the evening that to accompany Miss Bingley and Mr and Mrs Hurst to a local gathering. He was much engrossed by his troubling thoughts, to the exclusion of all conversation, and did not perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:

"What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society."

"Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance."

Sir William only smiled. "I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy."

"You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir."

"Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St. James's?"

"Never, sir."

"Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?"

"It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it."

"You have a house in town, I conclude?"

Mr. Darcy bowed.

"I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself, for I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas."

He paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not disposed to make any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was struck with the action of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to her:

"My dear Mrs Fitzwilliam, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very accomplished partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you."

Mr Darcy, however much he wished to take Elizabeth's hand, or perhaps because of this very desire, drew back and said with some discomposure to Sir William,

"Indeed, sir, I had not the least intention of dancing. Please excuse me." With this gruff parting, Mr Darcy turned his back and was gone.

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 14** **th** **November 1796**

"I hope, my dear," Mr Bennet said to his wife as they were at breakfast, "that you have ordered a good dinner today, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party."

"What do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in – and I hope _my_ dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she sees such at home."

"The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger. In fact, it is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life."

This roused a general astonishment; Mr Bennet had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and five daughters at once. After amusing himself for some time with their curiosity, he thus explained,

"About a month ago I received this letter," he said, brandishing the offending missive, "and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases."

"Oh! my dear," cried his wife, "I cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world, that your estate should be entailed away from your own children; and I am sure, if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about it."

Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her the nature of an entail. They had often attempted to do it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything about.

"Why it is a very lucky thing that Lizzy was able to catch the Colonel before he found himself dead, for if we did not have Somerford to move to when Mr Collins takes possession of this estate, then we should have been thrown out to the hedgerows."

"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair," said Mr. Bennet, "and nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself."

"No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it is very impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why could he not keep on quarrelling with you, as his father did before him?"

"Why, indeed; he does seem to have had some filial scruples on that head, as you will hear."

"Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th October.

"Dear Sir,—

"The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance. My mind, however, is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh," at this, Elizabeth raised a brow and leaned in, "whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England.

"As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within in the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive-branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends—but of this hereafter. If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, 14th November, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'ennight following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day.

"I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,

"WILLIAM COLLINS."

"At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peace-making gentleman," said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. "He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word, and I doubt not will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so indulgent as to let him come to us again."

"There is some sense in what he says about the girls, however, and if he is disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him."

"Though it is difficult," said Jane, "to guess in what way he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is certainly to his credit."

Elizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordinary deference for Lady Catherine - who by report she knew to be quite lacking in the benevolence he described - and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying his parishioners whenever it was required.

"He must be an oddity, I think," said she. "I cannot make him out; there is something very pompous in his style. And what can he mean by apologising for being next in the entail? We cannot suppose he would help it if he could. He can hardly be a sensible man."

"Indeed, by dear, I quite agree. I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him."

"In point of composition," said Mary, "the letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive-branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed."

Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet said little, but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty with a grave and stately air, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in this instance fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time disposed of in marriage. This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers, especially the daughter who had already been married once, and the significance of whose surname had clearly been lost in the commotion of his arrival.

Mrs Bennet, who quarrelled with no compliments, answered most readily. "You are very kind, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may prove so, for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly."

"You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate."

"Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with _you_ , for such things I know are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed."

"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more; but, perhaps, when we are better acquainted—"

He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins's admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture, were examined and praised; and his commendation of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet's heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The dinner too in its turn was highly admired, and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins the excellency of its cooking was owing. But he was set right there by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for about a quarter of an hour.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N I'm so sorry this took so long. If I'm not out on a research vessel at the moment, I'm in a lab or just trying to get some sleep. Life is a bit hectic right now. I hope you can forgive me, I'll try not to keep you waiting so long next time, but I can't make any promises.

To those who were disappointed by the amount of JA in the last chapter, we will be veering off back into unfamiliar territory very soon. However I have chosen tweak the necessary passages for you understand the events, without glossing over them or attempting to rewrite what is already much better than my own work. If you really can't tolerate this, feel free to skim whatever seems familiar, but you risk missing out on the little clues I plant along the way.

One of the scenes in this chapter was the whole inspiration for this story (I bet its not the one you think it is). I was a joy to finally write, and I hope I have managed to make it as delicious in print as it has been in my mind for the past two years. It's time to see a different side of Elizabeth.

 **Whether or not I write a fuller explanation of some of the events mentioned this chapter is largely based on whether I have written it well enough for my lovely readers to piece together on their own – so please tell me if you understand, or if you need to be told more directly.**

oOoOoOo

 **Monday 14** **th** **November 1796**

During dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all, but when the servants were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to shine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to his wishes, and consideration for his comfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him to more than usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect he protested that he had never in his life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank - such affability and condescension - as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to approve of both of the discourses which he had already had the honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at Rosings, and had sent for him only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people he knew, but _he_ had never seen anything but affability in her. She had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman; she made not the smallest objection to his joining in the society of the neighbourhood nor to his leaving the parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit his relations.

She had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had once paid him a visit in his humble parsonage, where she had perfectly approved all the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some herself—some shelves in the closet upstairs.

"That is all very proper and civil, I am sure," said Mrs. Bennet, "and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?"

"The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence."

"I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?"

"She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, "then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?"

"She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex, because there is that in her features which marks the young lady of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her from making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not have otherwise failed of, as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies."

"Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court."

"Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine one day, has deprived the British court of one of its brightest ornaments. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea; and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay."

"You judge very properly," said Mr. Bennet, "and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?"

"They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible."

Mr Bennet's expectations were fully answered, his cousin was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment, maintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance.

"Your deference to the great Lady and her daughter does you credit; such an association must gratify you. You have remarkable connections for having lived as but a parson."

"Indeed!" cried the gentleman, "to serve at the pleasure of Lady Catherine is quite the most fulfilling opportunity. And it is a distinct honour to observe her daughter on the occasions when she rides by."

"You are taken with this Miss de Bourgh?"

"Oh no, I shall dispel any such notions at once. Not only would I, a humble parson, be far below the consideration of such nobility, it is believed that Miss de Bough and her cousin will unite their two estates in holy matrimony."

Mr Bennet shared a mischievous look with Elizabeth, having caught his daughter roll her eyes quietly, and enquired,

"Is this true, Lizzy? You had not mentioned that any of the cousins were engaged to be wed."

"My recent knowledge is that no such engagement exists, apart from in Lady Catherine's imagination." Mr Collins spluttered in confused indignation. "The cousin you refer to is, I assume, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy?"

"Why yes, do you know of him? Do you have some connection other than myself to the family? How dare you speak of Lady Catherine with such irreverence" Mr Collins did not know which point to address first and quite tied is tongue at the quandary.

"The matter arose during my last conversation with Lord Fitzwilliam, in fact. The Earl is somewhat frustrated that Miss de Bourgh is not free to find herself a suitable match, when a betrothal to Darcy is by no means confirmed." Her eyes sparkled over the rim of her cup as she paused to take a sip. "I could not engage in idle gossip," she winked, "but much of the family consigns such notions to the fancies of the great Lady."

"The Earl? You claim an acquaintance with the Earl? Miss Elizabeth, you cannot simply-"

"Oh I do beg your pardon," Elizabeth interrupted with exaggerated civility, "I find I have to apologise for your confusion, we must have conducted our introductions ever so poorly to have left you under the misapprehension that I am a Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I shall take full responsibility for such a blunder, and I am every so embarrassed." Lizzy saw Mr Bennet suppress a chuckle; even Jane was amused by Elizabeth's excessive manners. "No, indeed, I am Mrs Richard Fitzwilliam. I am Lady Catherine de Bough's niece by virtue of my marriage to her nephew, the second son of the Earl Fitwilliam."

Despite the great quality of the spread served in the Bennet home, their guest choked on it quite the same.

oOoOoOo

 **Tuesday 15** **th** **November 1796**

Mr Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education or society, the greatest part of his life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father. Though he belonged to one of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any useful acquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought him up had given him originally great humility of manner, but it was now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in retirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected prosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his right as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.

Having now a good house and a very sufficient income, he intended to marry, and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report. This was his plan of amends - of atonement - for inheriting their father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own part.

These plans had been dashed upon learning of his cousin Elizabeth's relation to the great Fitzwilliam family, and thus to his revered Lady Catherine. This made any marriage to the Bennet sisters, in his mind, utterly impossible. He simply could not insult Her Ladyship with any notion of intimate connection with her family, however distant such a connection would be. Nevertheless, he determined his trip should not be wasted and, knowing that an introduction to other eligible ladies of the neighbourhood would only be expediated if he ventured out with his cousins, Mr Collins was quick to agree to Mr Bennet's request to attend the sisters as they walked to Meryton. It was a situation which suited both gentlemen perfectly – Mr Bennet could be rid of him and have his library to himself, and Mr Collins could be introduced to some of the Meryton society.

All of the sisters except Mary decided to make the trip, and in pompous nothings on the side of Mr Collins, and civil assents on that of his cousins, their time passed untill they entered Meryton. The attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by him. Their eyes were immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop window, could recall them.

But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with another officer on the other side of the way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny who had inspired Lydia's idea to walk into Meryton that day, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the stranger's air, all wondered who he could be; Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find out, led the way across the street, under the pretence of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, had reached the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, whose appearance was greatly in his favour - he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. Mr Wickham, they were informed, had returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say had accepted a commission in their corps.

It was at that moment, disrupting Elizabeth's sudden suspicions, that the pleasantries were interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats, as Mr Darcy was seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the gentleman came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities. Mr Darcy was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn with the purpose to inquire after the family. Mr. Darcy was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth too obviously, focusing instead on making polite conversation, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger. Elizabeth, happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat - a salutation which Mr. Darcy barely deigned to return.

This was enough to confirm her suspicions. With all her easy manners but with haste nonetheless, Elizabeth exclaimed that the hats in the shop around the corner had been quite extraordinary, and Mr Collins should escort her sisters there at once, lest the shop owner realise what an error it was to display such a creation and deny them all the pleasure of a good laugh. Jane, not understanding the change in Elizabeth's countenance but wise to her sharp mind, encouraged the younger sisters to follow this direction with her usual sweet firmness such that Kitty and Lydia acquiesced.

Elizabeth turned to Mr Darcy, who had by this time dismounted his horse, and pointedly directed him to take Denny aside for a moment. Darcy opened his mouth to argue, but Elizabeth's hard stare was enough to quiet him, at least for now, and he led a befuddled Mr Denny down the street a little, though he remained close enough to listen in if he strained, and leap to her defence if necessary.

"Mrs Fitzwilliam, I do not underst-"

"You certainly lack the mind I was told you possessed, Wickham." Elizabeth's wolf-smile was full of teeth and promise. "Fitzwilliam."

Wickham's eyes widened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched visibly as he clenched it. "Mrs Fitzwilliam-"

"Oh no, Mr Wickham, now is not the time for you to speak, it is the time for you to listen. Make no mistake, I know exactly who you are – I know that you are a low-life philanderer, a vicious liar and a wastrel."

"Now excuse me! I cannot have you-"

"Wickham!" she growled, and the man fell silent. "Your presence in Meryton is neither acceptable nor tolerable to me, but I am aware that actions such as buying a Lieutenant's commission cannot be undone on a whim."

"You are surely not asking me-"

"Did I not make myself clear, Wickham? _I_ am in control of this conversation. Do not interrupt me again."

Mr Wickham swallowed. Hard.

"Your presence in Meryton shall be temporary. Until such a time as you find a way to leave – whether you have your commission bought out or find another regiment with whom to shelter your sorry hide, I care not – you shall not speak to any of my sisters. You shall not call upon any of my relatives. You shall not approach Mr Darcy. If you happen to attend the same function as any of my family, you will leave. If you find yourself visiting upon someone at the same moment as any of my family, you find a way to excuse yourself. Immediately. Do you understand, Mr Wickham?"

"This is wholly inappropriate, how dare you dictate to me-"

"Oh Wickham," Elizabeth tutted with a sigh, "You are truly quite dense. Let me make myself perfectly clear," she leaned closer to the soldier, her sharp smile wider than her malice. She caught Darcy's anxious mien in the corner of her eye, but it only fuelled the cold fire in her voice. "If you so much as even look upon any person I love, anyone connected to me or my family – and this includes Mr Darcy – I shall bring the full force of the Fitzwilliam family down upon you.

"Darcy spared you, because of some misplaced belief that your shared childhood mattered, or to honour his blind father, I know not which. I shall show no such mercy. You have lied, you have cheated and you have hurt the people I hold most dear. Give me a reason, Wickham-"

A bead of sweat formed on Mr Wickham's brow as, for the first time since she started talking, he was truly still.

"Give me a reason."

Their proximity was finally too much for Mr Darcy, and he abandoned Mr Denny abruptly – though the soldier was perfectly content to make himself scarce, after the oddity of the afternoon – to return to where the couple were stood. He reached them just as Elizabeth leaned in and said in a low voice with all the calm of the centre of a storm,

"Rattling a sabre makes noise, Wickham. Drawing it does not. If you put _one foot_ out of line, you shall not see the consequences coming," Elizabeth took Darcy's arm and turned away, as though exiting a perfectly cordial conversation. But she stopped, just for a moment, and turned back to the man she despised most in the world,

"Until your world comes crashing down around you."

oOoOoOo

As they retreated, retrieving Mr Darcy's horse on the way, the gentleman began to speak, once, twice, but the words in his mind the failed to form in his mouth. Elizabeth laid her hand on his forearm comfortingly and bade him wait until his agitation had settled. She then gathered her sisters and encouraged them to make haste to their aunt's lest the sweet treats were all gone by the time they arrived, but informed them that she had remembered an urgent matter she must attend to at home so would not be joining them. Mr Darcy waited patiently for Elizabeth to finish then, reins in hand, the three of them began the walk back to Longbourn – Mr Darcy, Mrs Fitzwilliam and the horse.

They remained in tense quiet for several minutes, until Mr Darcy spoke with sudden vigour,

"I never second guessed myself so much as when Wickham re-entered my life this summer. I had always been so self-assured before. I thought that if I acted with all the principles my parents instilled in me, I would surely make the right decisions. But Wickham returned and I-"

He choked on his feelings as they poured from him.

"You ask yourself what you could have done differently, if you could have warned her of the boy she once knew, or taught her to be a cynic-"

"Taught her not to trust, told her that people show their good and hide their evil-"

"Wonder if you should have protected her by choosing a different time, or place-"

"If I should have simply been there more."

Their silence was heavy and breathless.

"You could not have known, Darcy. None of us could."

"But you did know!" Mr Darcy cried out in great pain. "It was only your express which allowed me to arrive in time to end the whole sorry affair. She told me nothing, I _knew_ nothing. She thought she had found the love of her life and she wrote to her dead cousin's widow instead of her brother."

Elizabeth rubbed away the pang of grief in her chest and blinked thought tears of guilt.

"You are right, it was not fair that she turned to me instead of you. And I should have spotted the signs sooner, should have questioned her feelings sooner, instead of dismissing each mention of her affections as fleeting fancy. If I had asked for his name but one week earlier, I might have lessened her heartache just a little."

"You cannot think that, Mrs Fitzwilliam." Darcy grasped her hand fervently. "You must never be ashamed of your actions, the very actions which saved Georgiana from the worst kind of misery. I only have myself to blame that she did not confide in me herself. I have spent too much time away from her: I was at university, I sent her away to school, I abandoned her to go to Ireland-"

"No!" cried Elizabeth, "no. I shall not have you blame yourself in such a manner. There was no abandonment, none of the sort. The Earl asked you to act on his behalf, he trusted you to be his ambassador during that dreadful business, and you fulfilled your duty to him to the best of your ability. In leaving for those months, you gave me the opportunity to mourn and celebrate Richard in beautiful Pemberley, with our dear Georgiana for comfort. If you had not tasked me with acting as her companion until you returned, I should have gone mad, all alone with little John at Somerford. If must feel guilty about anything, _please_ , do not let it be that."[1]

"Nevertheless, she could confide in you and she could not confide in me. That fact, and the consequences of it, shall haunt me for the rest of my days. This summer changed my sister, and it changed me too."

"The past few years have not been kind to us," Elizabeth agreed.

They walked in silence for much of the remainder of their journey. It was not so much companionable as it was empathetic, a silence filled with a mutual understanding of the guilt and grief of the other. As Longbourn came into view Elizabeth observed,

"It feels fateful. Like destiny"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Has it not struck you as bizarre that our lives have been intertwined for years and yet we have only just met?" she pondered. "I know your family well, I am the closest confidante of your sister, I have lived at your estate for many months, and yet we did not even share a room until the assembly. You were much occupied with social obligations or your duties for the Earl in Ireland, or I was simply elsewhere. It is so unusual – as though the hand of God kept us apart until now."

Mr Darcy's eyes had not left her face, so captivated was he by her sentiment. He disentangled their arms and raised as hand as though to touch her curls, but her bonnet and his thumping heart stopped him short.

"I think perhaps," he paused uncertainly, "I think perhaps we were kept apart so that we would find each other at just the right time. You- I- it has brought me great happiness to have met you."

"And I you. I only wish that dear Richard was still her to have introduced us." Elizabeth smiled softly as she touched the necklace she had been gifted seemingly lifetimes ago. "It was his fondest wish that we would all be family, together."

"Richard, yes," Darcy coughed, "Richard."

oOoOoOo

[1] This is where I get to say: I told you to trust me.

In the real world, Earl Fitzwilliam was made the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in 1794. At the beginning of 1795 he travelled to Ireland in an attempt to get a grip on the situation (the history of the relationship between England and Ireland is far too complex to cover in one footnote – sufficed to say, it was complicated, messy and regularly fatal for many involved). Our fictional Earl made a different decision, sending his trusted nephew to conduct business on his behalf. To fit with the story, I am placing this trip in the autumn of 1795 rather the at start, and taking Georgiana out of school a little earlier, allowing her to have a break at Pemberley before "an establishment was formed for her in London".


End file.
